Legacy
by whovianbard
Summary: A post-Gauda Prime story. Avon wanted freedom. Finally bringing down the Federation was the only way. But as with everything, there would be a price. Will Avon be willing to pay? Some Avon/Servalan. Avon/OC. Avon/Vila.
1. Friends And Enemies

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: As promised here is the first part of the reworked Legacy story I wrote back in my early twenties (eighteen years ago to be precise - doesn't time fly).**

**I have to give immense thanks to Spring and Tukin for whom the story was written in the first place (it was a bet and became their wedding present) for allowing me to mess with it and post it for all to read!**

**I'm dedicating this to Orion Lyonesse - a true B7 fan! And my most excellent beta...**

**This picks up directly after the final scene of the last episode of Season 4 (Blake).**

**Needless to say reviews, good or bad, are always welcome, indeed they are eagerly anticipated. Thanks for reading...**

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_Friends And Enemies_

The final stuttering echoes of gunfire faded away, replaced by an eerie silence, the background hum of computers and distant machinery suppressed to a mere suggestion. The acrid smell of ozone permeated the stale air, rendered even more bitter by the additional stench of burnt human flesh. Eyes watering, vision blurred, Kerr Avon looked around him uncomprehendingly, vaguely aware that incredibly he was still standing. As his senses returned, his gaze dropped to the floor, the blurred outline of Blake's body unmoving at his feet. What the hell had he done? What had gone wrong? He closed his stinging eyes at the scene before him, vainly hoping that by blocking the sight of the result of his actions, the ultimate betrayal, he could assuage the guilt churning his insides.

From somewhere behind him, there came a soft laugh, shatteringly loud in the silence. Startled he spun round, levelling his gun, ready to fire despite his still imperfect vision. At first it seemed that the laugh had issued from thin air, then, with sickening inevitability, from the corridor which the Federation troops had spilled not five minutes before, the imperious figure of Servalan stepped forward. Her high-necked long white gown was pristine, almost dazzling, in the harsh lights. To anyone who did not know her, the high sculpted cheekbones, porcelain skin, soft smile and clear piercing dark eyes haloed by dark close-cropped hair gave the illusion of innocence. Avon knew her well; any innocence in her had died long ago. In her long sculptured hands she carried a laser pistol aimed unwaveringly at his head, one scarlet nail laid caressing on the trigger. Silently she stood for a long moment surveying her handiwork, the bodies of the Federation troops which lay in a ring around Avon and Blake. Finally she allowed the soft smile to harden into one of satisfaction and raised her eyes to look directly at Avon. He cut an imposing figure despite his streaming eyes: dark hair, in need of a cut, just touching his collar; harsh features ruled by a pair of dark piercing eyes which rarely smiled in anything but savage amusement; a lean frame enclosed within dark leather, hiding the sleek musculature beneath. Every square centimetre screamed danger.

"I couldn't let them kill you, Avon. You are far too valuable to me," she purred.

"I'm flattered. Remind me not to return the favour some day," Avon replied sarcastically, his expression stony. He blinked a couple of times, trying to bring the world back into full focus. Servalan had the advantage and she knew it. He didn't stand a chance if he couldn't see. He didn't allow his hand to waver, keeping the gun trained firmly on the centre of the white dress. Even with blurred vision it was too good a target to miss.

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Avon. It's your knowledge that makes you valuable. You know where Orac is hidden, and you're going to tell me. You don't matter in the slightest." It was a lie. Avon mattered more than she would care to admit. Irritated at her own weakness, she rapidly pushed the thought aside and carefully descended the few steps separating them until she stood before him. Absently she glanced down at Blake's body, the man so long perceived by the Federation as their nemesis.

"What a pity. He really was the most fascinating man. I would have quite enjoyed killing him myself."

There was a long measured pause, then she locked eyes with the person she viewed as her personal nemesis. "Did you enjoy killing him, Avon?"

Avon glanced down once again at the body at his feet, noting with relief that his eyes could once more focus. He allowed a slight chilling smile to flicker across his face before returning his eyes to Servalan, his gaze unflinching.

"Not particularly. I didn't trust him. If he had betrayed us, he would have deserved to die. He didn't. I made an unfortunate mistake. But I knew it would come down to him or me in the end, and so did he."

With a dismissive shrug, Avon stepped away from Blake towards Servalan, until there was only a matter of inches between his face and hers. He looked intently into her face for a moment until he saw a trace of uncertainty cross her face, to be replaced almost instantly with an assured smile. To Avon's satisfaction, he noted that her gun was no longer trained at his head, but now rested forgotten against his shoulder. Pressing his advantage, Avon bent his head and mashed his lips savagely against hers, a muttered groan he could not suppress escaping his lips. Despite her blatantly evil nature, this woman was more intoxicating than any other he'd ever known. She resisted, half-heartedly pulling her head back to free herself. In response he raised his free hand, cupping it round the back of her head to pull her face back to his. For a split second she continued to resist, her lips unyielding. Then her free arm crept around Avon's back and she pulled him closer, the kiss deepening as she allowed her lips to soften. After several moments, Avon raised his head and they simultaneously pulled away, Servalan taking an unsteady step backwards out of the circle of his arms.

"Avon," she said uncertainly, her usual aloofness gone, her eyes wide and uncharacteristically soft. Gradually she realised that she no longer held her gun. At the discovery, she flashed a panicked glance at Avon. He stood impassively a short distance away, one gun in each hand, both aimed steadily at her chest, his face a mask of indifference.

"Vila. You took your time," he said quietly, his eyes focused on the room beyond her.

Servalan spun round to find the supposedly dead Vila also brandishing a gun, trained albeit slightly unsteadily at her, his open, normally friendly face a curious mixture of total fear and cold amusement.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," the Delta deadpanned, briefly allowing his soft brown eyes to rest on Avon. "I didn't want to interrupt." The corners of his mouth tilted in a faint smile. He ran one hand through his untidy brown hair, betraying his nervousness at being so close to the woman so intent on his demise.

Trying to compose herself, Servalan turned slowly back to face Avon, just in time to see him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture designed to deliberately insult. She swallowed, refusing to give him the pleasure of a response. If he was aware of her struggle to regain her composure, he gave no sign. He was no longer alone. Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin had now joined him. Soolin, her glacial blond beauty undiminished by the smudges of dirt and blast residue which spotted her face, wore a look of undisguised contempt. Tarrant looked on with an expression akin to pity, his boyish good looks somewhat marred by the injuries sustained in Scorpio's crash. Dayna's dark eyes however contained such cold hate that even the unshakable Servalan shivered involuntarily.

"For a clever woman Servalan, you have been remarkably inept on this occasion," Avon said sardonically, the familiar cold smile fixed firmly in place. "You've become…predictable."

She stared at him, confusion on her features despite her resolve to remain impassive.

Avon's expression twitched in satisfaction as he continued, "I have known Blake's location for a long time, and I only came here today because it suited my purpose. You were actually winning, Servalan, I wonder if you realise that? The pacification program is a resounding success, and every attempt we have made to combat it has failed. I realised we needed you to dismantle it, so I set up this little scenario to lure you here. We, of course, were the perfect bait, Blake and I. Oh, the others weren't in on it..." Avon briefly jerked one of guns in the direction of Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin, who looked just as bewildered by Avon's explanation as Servalan did. "They were convinced it was real. Vila, true to form, dropped to the ground when the firing started..." Vila directed an indignant glare in his direction at this but wisely chose to remain silent. "…I was counting on it," Avon continued. "Vila had to be conscious for this phase of the operation in case the others hadn't recovered. Oh, the Federation troops were real enough, but thanks to some assistance from rebel agents who paid a visit to your armoury here, their guns were not capable of delivering more than a mild stun."

"But you killed Blake, Avon. Do you think they're going to forget that?" Servalan said slyly, her composure back in place.

"I hate to disappoint you..." Blake's voice came from ground level. To Avon's amusement Vila's jaw dropped visibly in amazement. Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin shot each other surprised glances but seemed happy to let the scene play out. Servalan on the other hand stood immobile, her face wreathed with fury as Blake clambered up from the ground, clearly uninjured, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Avon, his heavy frame a startling contrast to Avon's lithe stature. Thick rivulets of blood ran down his chest and dropped to the floor with a heavy, wet, thud.

"An interesting little special effect, don't you think? Dates from the mid-twentieth century, I believe. It still seems to be surprisingly effective," he explained, drawing a bag containing the remains of a red liquid from his coat. "Avon, Vila's right. Either you are a very good actor, or you were thoroughly enjoying yourself just now." There was a very definite smirk on Blake's scarred face.

Avon scowled.

Servalan drew herself up to her full height and forced a condescending smile onto her face. She'd lost the advantage, but not for long.

"Very clever, Blake. I commend you both on your ingenuity. But you must realize that you won't get off this planet," she said with undisguised smugness. "The last time I checked, the Scorpio was a tangle of burning debris. You have no ship."

"I am not going anywhere, Servalan," Blake returned smoothly. "I intend to make Gauda Prime the base from which to launch my assault on the Federation." He paused, watching Servalan's face carefully. She gave nothing away. He continued, "No. Avon is going to leave, and he is going to do exactly what he's been doing until now. Making your life miserable."

"Oh, inconvenient maybe, interesting certainly, but never miserable," Servalan assured him with a smile. She redirected the smile towards Avon. "How do you feel about this, Avon? You are not a man to take orders from Blake." Her amusement at Avon's having to relinquish the role of leader was evident.

"For the moment, following Blake suits my own purpose," Avon stated flatly, refusing to rise to the bait. It did irk him, he had to admit it, watching Roj Blake rise from the dead and take over with hardly a word. But what he'd told Servalan was true. He wanted freedom, true freedom, and while the Federation existed, that was something he would never see. Rejoining Blake was the only chance he had of achieving his goal.

Servalan watched his face in silence for a moment. Finally she gave a slight shrug, as if his answer had been of no importance to her.

"Of course."

Blake watched the exchange between Avon and Servalan with interest. At the time he'd left the _Liberator_, face-to-face meetings with Servalan had been intermittent, and he had never detected the charged air which currently seemed to spark between them. Clearly their relationship had progressed in his absence. He fervently hoped it would not prove to be a distraction. He gave Avon a gentle nudge to gain his attention.

At Blake's nod, Avon skirted round Servalan and handed Dayna one of the guns, which she immediately trained on Servalan, her finger hovering impatiently above the trigger.

He gave her a significant look. "Don't kill her," he ordered sharply. Dayna gave him a mutinous look but nodded her assent.

Blake retreated up the steps towards the corridor. With a final dismissing glance at Servalan, Avon joined him and they began to talk earnestly, their voices hushed and guarded. To Vila's irritation, despite his excellent hearing, he could not hear more than a few abstract snatches of what they were discussing. Curious as ever he began to edge closer, until the voices became more distinct. Avon suddenly swung round and glared at him warningly, his eyes cold. Vila had made no sound; moving silently was a skill that every thief had to master and he prided himself on being an expert. He found it intensely disconcerting that Avon seemed to be able to hear him when no one else could. Nonchalantly, trying not to show the sudden frisson of fear that swept through him, he retreated several steps under Avon's unblinking gaze.

They stood expectantly, waiting for Blake and Avon to finish, avoiding each others eyes, each unwilling to break the silence. Dayna's eyes never wavered from Servalan's face. After several minutes, they separated and, without a further word, Avon stalked to the arched entrance of the corridor, his remaining gun now slung over one shoulder. With a casual backwards glance, he motioned the others to follow him. Clearly he wasn't intending to share anything he and Blake had discussed.

"Bring her, we have to leave. I don't know when we'll be back." Tarrant, Dayna and Soolin immediately started to follow Avon, herding Servalan roughly between them.

Vila remained stationary, hesitating. "I'm not sure I want to go, Blake. I think I'd rather stay here. It seems safer to me."

Blake saw a very definite look of fear enter Vila's eyes as they rested on Avon. Clearly, relations between Avon and Servalan were not the only ones that had changed since he'd parted company with them. Vila was clearly scared at the thought of being in Avon's presence. Blake looked at Avon expectantly, unwilling to force Vila to go.

"We need him," Avon said shortly, deliberately avoiding Vila's eye. All but Servalan and Blake flashed glances of patent disbelief at Avon.

"His skill at irritation is second to none!" he quipped dismissively.

Vila opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment he saw the expression in Avon's eyes, now focused on him alone. They said something very different. They were almost pleading. Abruptly Vila closed his mouth and, after a second's deliberation, he merely shrugged and sauntered after them.

With a low laugh of relief, Blake raised his wrist communicator to call his men, and set about the task of clearing up the remains of the Federation on Gauda Prime.


	2. Resurrection

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Sorry it has taken me so long to post the second chapter. This is all the fault of Torchwood plot bunnies who unrelentingly occupied my head with Ultraviolet for six months. Hopefully postings should be more regular now – although the plot bunnies are always hopping on the fringes...**

**Thanks to Orion Lyonesse for beta-ing overnight to allow me to post this today.**

**Needless to say reviews, good or bad, are always welcome, indeed they are eagerly anticipated. Thanks for reading...**

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_Resurrection_

Dayna shoved Servalan down the corridor toward the docking bay, the barrel of the gun planted firmly and painfully against her lower back. Dayna's pace was fast and she stumbled. Avon caught her arm and roughly pulled her upright. For a second their eyes met, and Servalan thought she saw a look of pity in his eyes mingled with something else she couldn't identify, but it was quickly replaced with cold contempt.

"You don't have a ship, Avon," she mocked. "How do you expect to get off this godforsaken planet? What is more, without the power of the _Liberator_ or _Scorpio_, you will be caught immediately." Avon merely smiled coolly, retaining a tight grip on her arm. He gave a curt nod to Dayna. She immediately fell back a couple of paces until Tarrant, Soolin and Vila, who had been keeping their distance, locked in serious discussion, drew level.

"She does have a point you, know; we can't leave here without a ship," Tarrant mused. "What is Avon planning to do? Rampage in a cargo transport?"

"I don't understand. Why we are keeping her alive anyway?" Dayna interjected angrily, hardly hearing Tarrant's words. "She's no good to us, and it's long past time I settled my score with her." She directed a scowl at Servalan's back, her finger twitching on the trigger of the gun she carried. It would be so easy, to end it now. But she had a feeling if she did so, her life might end a second later. When it came to Servalan, Avon was unpredictable.

Soolin saw Dayna's hand twitch and asked quickly, directing the question to Dayna, "What I don't understand is why Avon didn't tell us about the set up? I mean, relying on Vila to save him is not one of his brightest ideas. Why not one of us?"

But it was Vila who answered. "It worked, didn't it? What are you complaining for?" he said indignantly. "Anyway, the answer is really very simple and I am surprised you don't see it yourselves," he concluded triumphantly.

"All right, Vila, since you are so very clever, tell us poor foolish mortals the answers to all questions," Dayna said, her voice dangerously sweet.

Vila took one look at Dayna's glowering face and gulped. "All right. If this plan has been in operation as long as I suspect it has, Blake and Avon would have made sure there was a ship here of sufficient speed for our purpose, probably with teleport facilities. And as for Servalan, Avon is keeping her alive for two reasons, the first being he can turn her over to the Federation and use her as a bargaining piece. However much the Federation want us, 'Commissioner Sleer' is far more valuable. Secondly, and probably at this point more importantly, Avon is in love with her. Or as near as he is capable of, anyway," Vila reasoned, almost sadly.

"You're talking rubbish, Vila. We all know he hates her," Tarrant scoffed.

"You haven't seen what I've seen," Vila continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've known Avon for a very long time, longer than any of you realise, and I'm not stupid."

"You do a pretty good impression," Soolin interjected icily.

Vila glared at her, then continued, "In all this time, all these years, he has never killed her. He's had the opportunity, more than once, but he's never been able to pull the trigger. And let's not forget that time on Earth when he actually set her free. If that isn't love, albeit seriously twisted, I don't know what is."

"I hate to admit it, but Vila could be right. It does make sense...sort of," Soolin admitted. Dayna nodded in agreement and shot a look of disgust at Avon's back.

Tarrant merely shrugged. "Maybe, but you haven't answered Soolin's question yet, and this is an answer I'm interested in hearing."

A pace behind him Vila stuck his tongue out childishly. "This is the easiest question of all to answer. Avon didn't tell us because he doesn't trust us to carry out his plans. Since he wanted us to react normally, whatever that may be, he decided that the best way to ensure that was not to tell us. Let's be honest, when does he ever tell us his plans? We never know what is going on in his head." Vila's brow furrowed. "I don't know why he was so sure I would duck when the shooting started, though."

Dayna gave Vila an appraising stare, then smiled. "If I thought that was a serious question, I would be seriously worried about you."

"My apologies, Vila," Soolin said admiringly. "You are not entirely the Delta fool I supposed."

"Your graciousness overwhelms me," Vila replied smoothly, bowing low.

"Do you intend to do anything of use today?" Avon's voice cut scathingly into their conversation.

"Perhaps if you told us where we were going, we might actually be able to do something. What are you up to, Avon?" Dayna asked sharply.

Before she could obtain a reply, Avon halted beside a closed door signed as Docking Bay 4. He quickly entered a six-figure code into the keypad on the wall beside it with his free hand, the other still clamped uncompromisingly about Servalan's arm. There was a series of high-pitched beeps and the keypad surround glowed momentarily green. A quiet hissing sound accompanied the door as it slid sideways, retreating into the wall. Avon manoeuvred Servalan roughly through the doorway, the others following quickly before the door could slide back into place.

The docking bay was a contradiction of light and shadow. Vast in size, the furthest reaches were lost in deep shadow. In the central section, however, hidden spotlights lanced down from metal gantries stories high above, forming perfect circles of white light on the stained, concrete-like surface of the floor. But it was the spectacle the docking bay contained that reduced them to stunned silence. Towering above them, floating on air jets just above the ground, was the gleaming, snow-white, three-pronged hull of the _Liberator_, its green energy sphere pulsating gently. Dayna, Tarrant and Vila gaped, mouths open in disbelief. Only Soolin looked on with unconcerned interest. She recognised the ship from the descriptions of the others but, unlike them, it had never been her home.

Servalan broke the awed silence first. "But the _Liberator_ was destroyed. I was on her. I only just escaped." The disbelief in her voice was evident.

"More's the pity," muttered Dayna, loud enough for all to hear.

Avon ignored her. "Of course this isn't the original _Liberator_. This is just a copy. Not identical though, the original _Liberator_ was far too advanced to be copied in every detail, but the most important systems are there, including the teleport and the auto repair facility. The drives however have been modified to accommodate Dr. Plaxton's Photonic Drive. So you see, Servalan, we are neither grounded nor helpless after all."

"How did you do this, Avon, if the _Liberator_ and the _Scorpio_ were destroyed?" Tarrant asked, unable to tear his eyes from the _Liberator_'s gleaming hull.

Avon raised his eyebrows, somewhat amused by Tarrant's question. "Orac remembered," he said briefly. "Shall we go aboard, or are we going to stand here all day?"

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The interior of the _Liberator_ was much as Vila remembered it, a comforting warren of softly lit hexagonal hallways, almost silent but for a low melodic hum. Vila remembered how, even when the engines had been at full power, the _Liberator_ had been almost eerily quiet, the hum only emphasising the alien nature of the ship. Now the quiet hum was a sign that he had returned home, a balm to his shattered nerves. Splitting away from the others, who had been given the task of escorting Servalan to her new secure quarters with strict instructions not to kill her no matter what the provocation, Vila and Avon traced the route burnt into their memories and emerged at the top of the flight of stairs leading down to the flight deck. It was like stepping back in time. The multi-level control consoles stood in majestic array along the rear wall, the high backed stations standing guard above the couch which arched around a circular holotable, the scene of so many arguments and intense discussions that had shaped their lives to this point. Despite the contra-indications given by his words and manner, maybe Avon was a sentimentalist after all. There may be hope for him yet, Vila reflected hopefully. To Vila's eyes, nothing about the _Liberator_ had changed since the beginning, except for the crew, and as they walked down the steps to the main floor, Vila looked up, half expecting the flashing lights and friendly booming voice of Zen welcoming him on board. He even tentatively spoke Zen's name but, although the flashing lights appeared as they had in the past, the answering voice was somewhat different, higher pitched, less friendly, and definitely cantankerous.

"AS YOU ARE WELL AWARE, VILA, MY NAME IS ORAC. KINDLY USE IT. I AM CURRENTLY ENGAGED IN RUNNING PREFLIGHT DIAGNOSTIC CHECKS, ALTHOUGH WHY I SHOULD CONCERN MYSELF WITH SUCH TRIVIALITIES AS THESE IS BEYOND EVEN MY EXTENSIVE COMPREHENSION."

"Avon, did you have to install that thing as our not-so-friendly neighbourhood computer," Vila complained, his voice plaintive. "I've had warmer conversations with a food dispenser!"

"Food dispensers can't fly a ship or engage Federation pursuit ships in head-on combat," Avon reminded him dryly. He was engrossed in readouts at the lead control station and barely even raised his eyes.

"Orac," Avon continued, confidently pressing a number of buttons on the control console. "Take us into orbit. Then set a course for Carillion, in the ninth sector, Time Distort 8. Set the long-range scanners at three-sixty degrees. I don't want the Federation to know where we are. If you pick up any ships, make the appropriate course deviation to avoid being picked up. Do you understand?"

"OF COURSE I DO," Orac snapped. "ALTHOUGH I DO NOT SEE WHY I..."

"Just do it, Orac. I have to see an old friend," Avon said wearily.

"IF YOU INSIST," Orac grumbled.

"You're going to see her, aren't you?" Vila said quietly, his hand on Avon's arm effectively blocking his exit from the flight deck.

"A very astute deduction," Avon replied mockingly, but his eyes were weary, lacking their usual coldness, and even his pithy tone seemed diminished.

"Please don't underestimate her, Avon," Vila warned him in a worried voice. "You know she's at her most dangerous when she's cornered."

"You feel you're qualified to give me advice now?" Avon replied, the coldness returning to his voice, his eyes narrowing.

Vila gave a brief bleak smile and released Avon's arm, stepping back out of Avon's path. "I thought maybe I'd earned the right by now, as your friend if nothing else, but I see I'm wrong." He continued, his voice becoming uncharacteristically cold. "Do what the hell you want, Avon, if you're so hell bent on your own destruction. Just don't expect me to help you on your way."

Avon took a step and then paused. For a moment it seemed he was about to speak and Vila felt a spark of hope that maybe his words had reached him. But almost at the same instant, the shuttered expression returned to Avon's face and, without a word, he stalked from the flight deck, leaving a desolate Vila staring helplessly after him.

* * *

The engines came to life, their quiet hum resounding through the ship, setting up a low, almost imperceptible, vibration. Tarrant had forgotten what it felt like, and he revelled in it. It was less than forty-eight hours since the _Scorpio_ had crashed and he had been convinced he would die. At the memory of it, the wounds inflicted by the crash and pushed to the back of his mind by the extraordinary events of the day resurfaced and began to throb painfully. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, mentally dispersing the pain as he did so. When they were in the air, he would attend to his injuries. First though he felt an almost primal need to watch the ship take off and feel the accompanying surge of adrenalin. He hurried to the flight deck, not wanting to miss even a second of the thrill. He pushed past Vila smiling at him with excitement. He was so engrossed in his eagerness to witness the launch that he didn't noticing the thief's lack of response, or the grey pallor of his skin. Taking his old seat at the controls, and put the forward view on visual. He watched in wonder as the docking bay doors slid apart slowly, revealing an ever widening strip of grey sky beyond. There was a muted hollow clang as the massive doors came to rest in the fully open position. Immediately the ship moved forward gently, the interior of the docking bay slipping to either side of the forward view, until there was no sign of the metal structure, only the vastness of Gauda Prime's empty sky filling the screen. There was a surge as the manoeuvring thrusters brought the nose of the ship up until it was pointed skywards. With the featureless grey sky it was impossible to tell how fast they were moving and it was only when the view screen seemed to fog that Tarrant realised they were already cutting through the cloud cover. At that moment, the main engines fired, the acceleration throwing Tarrant back in his seat. For a single second, Tarrant felt an incredible pressure, as though his skull was about to explode, then the G-force compensators kicked in and the ship seemed to stop. As he watched, the _Liberator_ tore through the grey wispy clouds, passing into the upper levels of the atmosphere. Then they hit the outer atmosphere, the hull glowing bronze as the outside temperature soared. After less than a second, the _Liberator_ was spit from the atmosphere as though it were an unpalatable morsel and finally broke orbit, surrounded by the blackness of space, punctuated by vivid points of light.

"I can see the stars," Tarrant murmured. He had honestly believed that it was a sight he would never see again.

"What did you say?" Vila asked testily, picking himself up from the floor where he had been unceremoniously flung by the force of the thrusters, and rubbing his bruised shoulder.

"Nothing important."

* * *

Avon had just entered the corridor leading to the holding cell when the sudden burst of acceleration sent him crashing into the wall and onto the floor.

"Orac!" he shouted bitterly at the intercom, rubbing the arm on which he had somewhat painfully landed. "Next time, some bloody warning would be nice!"

Orac didn't deign to reply, not that Avon had honestly thought he would. The machine's arrogance was second to none. Avon slammed his fist against the wall in frustrated anger, but only succeeded in bruising his hand on the smooth metal. Swearing loudly, he pulled himself to his feet, and, limping slightly, continued on his way. When he reached the cell, Dayna and Soolin were stood at either side of the door, heavily armed and voicing much the same sentiments. Dayna held her arm gingerly, while Soolin was rubbing her shin briskly.

"I've had smoother take-offs," Dayna complained.

"I'm just happy that we're alive to take off at all," Soolin pointed out. "Saying that, I think Orac could do with some lessons."

Avon didn't smile at the joke. His face was set, his eyes hooded. "I want to talk to her. Dayna, take Soolin to the flight deck and show her the flight controls. It's different to the _Scorpio_ and I want to be sure we're ready by the time we get there," he said shortly.

"For the last time, Avon, get where?" Soolin asked, exasperated beyond measure with Avon's stonewalling. Avon did not answer her, and in truth didn't even look as though he had heard her question. He merely opened the door to the holding cell and went inside, closing the door swiftly behind him. Soolin and Dayna looked at each other, shrugged, and left him alone.

Servalan was perched on a padded bench at the far side of the room, her back ram-rod straight. Her eyes darted from side to side nervously, the only sign of the turmoil and fear inside her. She rose to her feet as Avon entered and stood before him, a statue of gleaming marble, her dark close-cropped hair and panther eyes the only vestige of colour. She was very beautiful, Avon admitted dispassionately, studying the creature before him; it was a pity they had to be enemies. But that was what they were. Enemies. Vila had been right about one thing: she was at her most dangerous when her back was up against the wall. It was time to show her exactly who was in charge here.

Without addressing a word to her, he walked towards her and pulled her roughly to him. Almost of their own volition, their mouths met, and this time there was no hint of the savagery or anger that had accompanied their earlier kiss. This time it was long, controlled, and surprisingly gentle. Servalan wrapped her arms around him, entwining her fingers in his dark hair, staking her claim on him, preventing him from leaving her side. Her lips parted, giving him access, her tongue flicking out to meet his, never letting his claim her completely. Avon pushed her down along the length of the bench, his hands moving gently down the length of her back, his lips leaving hers to caress the hollow at the base of her neck and the angular planes of her shoulders before returning to the gentle exploration of her mouth. Servalan in turn allowed her fingers to wander down his back, digging her nails into the leather of his jacket, claiming her territory. She lay, eyes closed, uncaring, defenceless, and oblivious to everything except the heated, luxurious feelings Avon was stirring in her belly.

Avon abruptly drew away, out of her arms. "Open your eyes Servalan," he said quietly, his voice showing no hint of passion.

Startled by his words, Servalan's eyelids fluttered open. Avon's face was very close above hers. His eyes were dark and unmoving and horribly, horribly blank. In them she could see the reflection of her flushed face, for once soft, staring back at her. She felt trapped, almost suffocated by the closeness of him. Avon drew back still further, standing up and taking a few steps back, as if he too needed to distance himself from her. Her pulse began to slow and, drawing on those inner reserves of strength upon which she relied, she slowly sat up. She tried to school her features back into her implacable mask of distain.

"So you do have some feeling after all; I was beginning to wonder. I almost betrayed my friends for you. I came so close. How close you will never know," Avon said slowly, shaking his head. Each word sent an icy shiver down her spine. "I can't bring myself to kill you, Servalan. I suppose you find that ironic. It is, after all, a victory for you. Then again, you can't kill me either, can you? Even on the day Anna died when I would have been glad if you had. We are the same, Servalan, you and I, two facets of the same being. But only one of us can really exist in the end and that person will be me." Avon's voice dropped to a whisper, cold and harsh. "I want you, Servalan, even now. What is more, you want me too. Your response made that obvious. It scares you, doesn't it? Wanting, even needing, someone that much? Especially me, someone who actually knows how that scheming evil mind of yours works. Someone who understands, even shares, that overwhelming need for absolute power. We have been through a lot together, you and I, and so I will tell you what I am going to do." His smile was cold as he cocked his head. "I am going to let you go. You will return safe to your Federation, for a price, of course, and then, when the Federation is in tatters and you are powerless and alone, I will hunt you down. And when I find you, be under no illusions, I will kill you. On my terms." Avon paused for a second, watching Servalan's ashen face with satisfaction. "And you will know that the only person who ever really understood you and wanted you - you Servalan, not just your power and position - is going to mercilessly hunt you down for the rest of your life. It's a lonely existence, Servalan. I know. You made sure of that."

Avon dropped his eyes and turned away from her. He had said more than he'd intended, more than he'd even realised was true. The knowledge of his feelings shocked him; he hadn't though he was capable of such emotion. He had spent his life suppressing every feeling, burying every emotion deeply, hiding behind his armour of cold indifference. Emotion was dangerous. It made him vulnerable, and that was something he couldn't afford to be. He'd paid dearly for showing his emotions in the past. He wasn't about to make that mistake again.

Servalan watched his retreating form, trembling uncontrollably. She felt more unnerved than she had ever been before. It was hard to say what scared her more, the man before her, or the feelings she'd thought long since buried, that he seemed able to stir within her. Flustered, she took the only form of defence she knew, attack.

"It will be torture for you too, Avon. Do you really think you can endure it for much longer?" she said, her voice unsteady.

"I don't know," Avon replied in a rare moment of honesty, not turning to face her.

The walls suddenly seemed to press in, the small cell becoming airless; he needed to escape, to find somewhere he could regain his equilibrium. He found himself practically running the few steps to the door. As the metal panel slid shut behind him and the locking mechanism whirred, signalling that he was out of the room, out of her sphere of influence, Avon gave a deep sigh. He was not sure how he was going to survive the course in front of him. What is more, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. His eyes haunted and his shoulders slumping with an invisible burden of defeat greater than he had ever thought possible, he walked slowly towards the flight deck.

As Avon bolted from the room, Servalan felt the sudden urge to run after him, to plead, for the first time, in her life, for forgiveness. But no! She had to be strong to survive this, she told herself; she had to show Avon that he could not break her. She had been the President of the Federation. She had held the fate of every man, woman and child in the palm of her hand, the decisions of their lives had been hers to command. Avon was just one man, and, like all men, he could be crushed. Even as she tried to convince herself of her superiority, she felt a single tear roll down her cheek, the first tear soon joined by a second, and then a third. Though she did not know why they were there, they would not stop.


	3. Flawed Design

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read. Special thanks to those who have taken the time to review. And as always grateful thanks to Orion.**

**Reviews are very welcome.**

* * *

_Flawed Design_

On the flight deck, Vila had already abandoned the controls, which, to be fair to him, didn't really need monitoring, and had settled himself in his favourite position on the semi-circular sofa. He was nursing a glass of Adrenalin and Soma he had somehow managed to produce from thin air and was loudly and drunkenly toasting the new ship to anyone who would listen. Watching him from her control position high above, Dayna shook her head in mock disgust, being too glad to be on board the Liberator once more to spoil his innocent, trivial pleasures. Her intuition was telling her that this mission, whatever it may be, was going to be more dangerous than anything they had attempted before. Maybe they should all be following Vila's lead, taking their pleasures when and where they could. A movement from Soolin, glimpsed from the corner of her eye, drew her attention away from the thief's inebriated ramblings to the blond girl who was absorbed with the task of bringing the Liberator into stationary orbit around a small asteroid on manual. Soolin's brow was furrowed with intense concentration and she was sucking a strand of her long blonde hair, something Dayna had noticed she only did when she had something on her mind.

"What is Avon up to?" Dayna tapped her nails on the console thoughtfully, guessing that was the subject occupying Soolin's mind as much as her own.

"Avon has never been particularly forthcoming in sharing his ideas. I don't see why he's going to start telling us anything now," Soolin said practically. She gave a sigh and straightened up, lifting her hands from the flight controls. "Orbit complete."

Dayna checked the readouts, her hands flying swiftly over the consoles before her. "Spot on." She beamed a smile across to Soolin. "You picked that up really fast. Orac, resume course and speed." Dayna leaned against the padded back rest of the flight chair and huffed with exasperation. "Not that I know where we're going." She looked back across to Soolin, leaning back in her chair with a similar frustrated expression, and asked, "What is he up to with that woman? I'm beginning to take Vila's explanation seriously."

"And what explanation is that?" Avon's voice cut in. He had arrived just in time to catch Dayna's last comment. While his tone was mild, there was a sharp undercurrent of menace. He looked down at Vila suspiciously. Vila merely grinned, turning innocent, almost befuddled, eyes in his direction, and waving a vague hand of greeting.

"Nothing," Dayna said lightly, refusing to be intimidated. She continued in a more deliberate tone which dared Avon not to give an answer, "What are you planning on doing with her?"

Avon cocked his head to one side and regarded Dayna thoughtfully, clearly debating how he intended to respond to her challenge. Finally his thin lips curved in a chilling smile and he said softly, "I'm going to kill her - eventually. But before I do, I'm going to use her to stop the pacification programme."

"How? We've tried this before," Dayna pointed out sharply, her expression incredulous. "With absolutely no success, if you remember."

Avon gave a nod of acknowledgement. He couldn't argue with Dayna's assessment. Their last attempt to stop the pacification programme had met with abject failure. This time though they might really have a shot.

"So far, we've tried to supply an antitoxin," he explained. "What we really need to do is neutralise the Pylene 50 at source, the chemical plants where it's manufactured." As he spoke, Dayna saw Avon's mask of calm indifference slip. His eyes lit up with an almost feverish intensity. But there was a flaw with the plan, a huge flaw.

"But there are hundreds of chemical plants, at least one on every planet that it's used," Dayna protested weakly. "We can't blow them all up."

"I never suggested we should." Avon said calmly. His face settled into the superior smile Dayna knew meant they were heading into big trouble. "Orac has been researching the chemical formula of Pylene 50. It's identified that a simple substitution in one of the starter compounds will result in an unstable form of the drug which has similar effects to Pylene 50 for about an hour. Then, as the compound deteriorates, it forms an antitoxin in the blood that not only makes new doses of it to the system ineffective, but also reverses the effects of the drug already administered. If we can contaminate just one day's Pylene 50 supply on each planet, the pacification program will be over. As the people return to normal, Blake will be there to lead them in revolution. Just like he always wanted."

"It sounds simple enough in theory, Avon," Soolin interjected, "but I get the feeling it's going to be more complicated than that."

Avon glanced at her in annoyance but continued smoothly, "Narox, the compound that needs to be substituted, is supplied by only one planet: Carillion. When the Federation arrived, the original ruler, Kanto, took himself off to an underground stronghold, armed with a bomb that, if triggered, would set up a chain reaction in the planet's core, destroying the entire world."

"Just like Obsidian," Dayna observed.

"Exactly like Obsidian," Avon agreed with a nod. "Only here Kantor made a deal with the Federation that they could take as many natural resources as they wanted, provided they left the population alone. Or else..."

"…he'd destroy the planet, lock, stock and Narox," Tarrant joined in, entering the flight deck in the middle of Avon's outlining. "And without the Narox, there would be no pacification programme."

"Exactly. The Federation had no choice but to agree, so the planet is at stalemate. I have been in contact with Kantor and he is willing to help us." Avon stepped down onto the lower level of the flight deck. "Orac, when do we make orbit around Carillion?"

"APPROXIMATELY FOURTEEN HOURS, TWENTY SEVEN MINUTES, AND EIGHT POINT SIX THREE SECONDS. PLEASE STOP ASKING SUCH TRIVIAL QUESTIONS. I AM ENGAGED IN FAR MORE IMPORTANT TASKS!" Orac replied petulantly.

"We get the point, Orac," Avon said sharply. "I suggest you all get some rest. You're going to need it. I'll take first watch. Tarrant, you take over in four hours." Avon gave a wide smile. It reminded Vila of a predator charming his prey into submission just before the kill. He couldn't contain the shiver of unease that ran through him. He had seen that smile before, usually just before Avon led them into a situation that was altogether too dangerous for his delicate constitution. He took a gulp of the Adrenalin and Soma.

With murmured words of farewell, the crew separated, wearily making for each one's own private sleeping quarters. Vila remained where he was, clutching the almost empty glass of alcohol to his chest like a life preserver. Despite appearances, he'd been nursing the single glass of Adrenalin and Soma for the past hour and, far from being drunk, he almost felt more sober than when he'd poured out the last of his secret stash. Still, he had to admit that the illusion of being intoxicated came in extremely useful when avoiding work or unpleasant situations. Not that he seemed able to avoid the one that was brewing now. He had to know what was going on between Avon and Servalan. As if sensing Vila's questions, Avon settled on the chair opposite Vila who, after a moment of hesitation, looked up straight into Avon's expressionless eyes.

"You aren't telling us everything, Avon," Vila began in a tentative voice. "Not that that's unusual. You're going to let her go, aren't you? And I know why..." His voice tailed away nervously.

"Dying today suited you, Vila," Avon said coldly, his eyes fixed snakelike on Vila's face. "But you wouldn't want to make a habit of it. Would you?" Vila said nothing, but stood up, his unsteadiness having nothing to do with the alcohol. His fingers tightened around the empty glass so hard he wondered whether it would shatter in his hand. He wasn't brave enough to push for an answer. He would never be brave enough. Wordlessly he scurried from the flight deck, anxious to be away from Avon's threats and his dark lifeless eyes.

Alone on the flight deck Avon watched Vila's retreating form. He clenched his fists, angry that Vila had seen through his charade and yet somehow disappointed that Vila had admitted defeat and retreated so readily. Avon forced himself to relax and unclench his hands, slumping back on the soft leather seat with a resigned sigh. Of course Vila had seen through his charade; there had never been any part of Avon's psyche that had remained hidden from the thief for long. Vila had been there right from the very beginning and Avon had no doubt he would be there until the bitter end. Only tonight, the fear Avon had seen in his eyes on Gauda Prime had returned and he had fled, driven away by Avon's threats, just as Avon had intended. Feeling strangely hollow inside Avon yawned widely and fixed his eyes on the display screen.

* * *

"ORBIT AROUND THE PLANET CARILLION HAS BEEN ACHIEVED. THE LIBERATOR IS HOLDING AT ONE THOUSAND SPACIALS," Orac announced calmly, abruptly waking Avon from his doze. His head jerked up, sending sharp pains shooting through his protesting neck muscles. With a groan Avon raised one hand to massage the back of his neck as he slowly sat upright. Where the hell was Tarrant, he thought groggily, his confusion turning swiftly to anger. He should have been relieved hours ago. Avon stood up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his free hand. Every movement sent further shooting pains through his limbs and back. With the gait of an old man he moved gingerly around to the communication console, glad that none of his companions were there to see him. He hadn't realised how tired he had been, or how every muscle of his body had been strained by the events of the last few days. With a rare flash of compassion he realised that Tarrant had been in far worse a state, and he resolved not to tackle him over the subject of the missed watch. Still, it had been fortunate they had not run into trouble in the last fourteen hours; not one of them would have been awake to deal with it.

Avon rolled his head in a circle, working the last knots out of his neck before pressing a sequence of buttons to enter the prearranged code that opened the scrambled channel to the rebels below.

"Carillion, this is the Liberator," Avon transmitted. "We are currently holding an equatorial orbit at one thousand spacials and will be ready to teleport on your instructions."

There was a brief blast of static hiss, then a disembodied female voice floated out across the flight deck. "This is Carillion, Liberator. We're so glad you've arrived. Can you give us details of how many will be in the landing party?"

"Four. Two men, two women," Avon replied briskly. The voice from Carillion had ignited his curiosity. Cultured and low-toned, almost husky, the voice was clearly not that of some technician or grunt. More curious still, despite only saying a few words, this voice instantly inspired trust, even in those like himself who trusted no-one. It was not a concept Avon was either familiar or comfortable with.

"We have transferred the coordinates for teleportation to your ship's computer," the woman's voice continued. "You may teleport down when ready." The voice ceased, leaving the flight deck curiously empty. Avon stood for a moment absorbing the silence. This was it. His last chance to turn and flee from the path fate had set for him. The temptation was almost overwhelming, he acknowledged. It would be so easy to set a course for the furthest reaches of the galaxy, leaving the Federation far behind him. With Orac and the Liberator at his command, he would be unstoppable. But he'd thought that before, and he'd been so very wrong. With that thought came the remembrance of the occupant of one of Liberator's cells, and his expression became grim. Who was he trying to fool? As if she would ever let him go. After this she would hunt him down to the end of time, just as he had promised her.

Avon let out a long slow breath of resignation and, with a few deft touches, switched over the communicators to internal.

"Nap time's over, ladies and gentlemen. Get your asses to the flight deck now. We have work to do."

His curt words rang through every room and corridor in the ship. In her cell Servalan shot awake with a start, her stomach lurching in apprehension. She might have drawn a little comfort from the knowledge that in four more of Liberator's cabins Avon's words had exactly the same effect.

* * *

After several minutes, Dayna, Tarrant and Soolin hurried onto the flight deck, almost falling over each other in their haste to respond to Avon's summons. To be fair they were looking a good deal better than they had fourteen hours ago. Three pairs of eager eyes trained on Avon, and there was a definite spring in the steps of Dayna and Soolin. Only Tarrant was obviously still suffering the physical effects of the previous two days, his movements stiff and tentative. But even his face was alight with enthusiasm, although at that moment it was also exhibiting a good deal of concern. How was Avon going to take out his inevitable displeasure at his failure to take over the watch? Almost before he had even passed the threshold to the flight deck Tarrant launched into a clumsy apology, but Avon silenced him with an impatient wave of dismissal. Startled, Tarrant breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he was going to get away without reprisal. At least for now.

A full sixty seconds later Vila staggered in. His hands were in place at either side of his head, as though if he released his hold for even a second it would tumble from his shoulders. His normally rosy features were pale, tinged with a greenish hue which owed nothing to the lighting, and limp mousey-brown hair fell untidily over a brow furrowed in pain. It was obvious to even the most casual observer that he was suffering from a Grade A hangover.

* * *

In fact, the hangover Vila was suffering was worse than any one of his friends could have imagined. He might have only been feigning drunkenness when he'd left the flight deck the previous evening, but only an hour later his inebriation had been real and complete. After leaving Avon, he had practically raced back to his cabin, almost expecting to hear Avon's heavy footfalls pounding down the corridor behind him, ready to make good his veiled threat. The eyes Avon had turned on him had been so cold, so black, the only life in them the spark of madness. They had been the eyes of a man capable of anything, including murdering his friend in cold blood. They were the eyes Vila had seen only once before – in the shuttle high above Malodaar. So Vila had run.

On reaching his cabin Vila had locked the door behind him, scrambling the circuit to deadlock the door before the thought that Avon might force entry even had time to fully form. Then, shaking, he had sunk onto his bed, looking blindly around at his cabin for the first time, his mind numb with fear. The shapes and features of the room blurred together under the dim lighting. His eyes fell on a lit storage alcove across the room, and suddenly the contents resolved into sharp focus. Behind the clear perspex door, half a dozen bottles containing a myriad of coloured liquids glinted under the downlighters. Vila launched across the room, releasing the door with trembling hands, and fell on them like a drowning man. Barely sparing a thought as to who had supplied them, he pulled out a familiar tall sinuous bottle of green Adrenalin and Soma. Within minutes the large bottle was empty. Almost frantically he pulled a second bottle from the locker, again filled with green liquid - he was sure he would have recognised it if his vision or taste buds had been functioning at anywhere close to normal levels - and downed the contents, the syrupy liquid burning the lining of his throat. He needed something, anything, to blot out the last forty eight hours, and in particular the madness in Avon's chilling eyes which floated constantly in front of him, seared into his mind's eye. It hadn't worked. Six bottles and five hours later Vila had slumped to the floor of his cabin unconscious, claimed by merciful oblivion.

* * *

Now, holding his head in his hands, his eyes fixed firmly on the pale grey surface of the deck, Vila realised that the others were watching him, half in curiosity, half in amusement. Very gingerly he lifted his face to look at them, taking care not to meet Avon's disapproving gaze. The movement was a mistake. He moaned loudly.

"I think my head has a nuclear compression charge inside it. Adrenalin and Soma didn't used to be that powerful. I think I'm going to die." Inside his head, his voice sounded like a string of miniature explosions going off in quick succession. He moaned again, this time more quietly.

"Very probably," Avon commented dryly. "And very soon, if it was left to me." He turned away from the unfortunate Delta with a sneer. "Dayna, Tarrant, you are going to teleport down with me to the planet. Soolin, stay at the controls. Something tells me we may be getting a visit from our Federation friends before long." He turned back to Vila, his expression forbidding. "Vila, stay on teleport, and don't, under any circumstances, fall asleep. We may need to get off the planet quickly. Do you understand?" The final question was laden with menace.

"Of course. Don't you have any faith in me, Avon?" Vila said indignantly, simultaneously trying to suppress a shudder of fear and rubbing his head at the renewed pain his retort had elicited.

"No," Avon returned with derision. He deliberately turned his back on Vila once more. "We are taking Servalan down with us. Tarrant, Dayna, bring her to the teleport. While we are down there, make sure you call her Commissioner Sleer. I don't intend for us to play our hand too quickly."

At Avon's orders, Dayna's eyes glinted with the emerging possibility of long awaited revenge. With an eager smile, she nodded her assent, and turning strode purposefully in the direction of the holding cells, her tall frame rigid with anticipation. As she disappeared from sight, Tarrant flashed a warning look at Avon.

"Is this wise?" he asked casually. "Dayna may not be able to keep her cool or make sound judgements with that woman around."

Avon bestowed a contemptuous glance on Tarrant. "Is it Dayna you are worried about, or yourself?" he countered with a cold smile. "As I recall, you have shown yourself to be very receptive to Servalan's suggestive nature."

"As have you, Avon." Tarrant's parting shot carried back over his shoulder as he followed Dayna out into the corridor. Avon scowled. He got the distinct feeling that he had just lost this round. He looked back at Vila, now slumped across the padded benches, clearly battling the urge to return to blissful oblivion.

"Two minutes, Vila," Avon said warningly, watching in grim satisfaction as Vila's head jerked upright, his expression fearful. Without another word he made his way along a corridor until he came to the teleport. The teleport area was more of a lobby than a discrete room. Opening onto wide corridors on two sides, it had a control desk parallel to the third wall, whilst on the fourth wall a recessed alcove delineated the bay that housed the teleport machinery. Avon had always considered it a flawed design, the open access to corridors on either side making it impossible to defend, a direct and open route to the flight deck for any would-be invaders. It was a flaw they'd had reason to regret in the past. Avon supposed he should have done something to address the issue this time around but when it had come down to it there just hadn't been the time.

Sitting at the control terminal, Avon brought up the teleport coordinates transmitted from the planet on a green display screen. He overlaid the coordinates onto an outline map of the land masses on the planet below and studied the position of the green dot intently for several moments in confusion. Something about the coordinates was wrong.

"Orac, where exactly do these coordinates place us?" he asked finally. "Is this map correct?"

"THE MAP IS CORRECT. HOWEVER, THE MAP DOES NOT ACCURATELY REFLECT THE ALTITUDE OF THE COORDINATES. THE COORDINATES SUPPLIED CORRESPOND TO A LOCATION ONE POINT OH-TWO MILES BENEATH THE PLANET'S SURFACE. THIS SUGGESTS THAT THE UNDERGROUND COMPLEX IS DIRECTLY BENEATH THE MOUNTAIN CASPAR OF THE ANDRONEAN RANGE. THE ANDRONEAN RANGE SPANS FOR..."

"Thank you, Orac, that will be sufficient," Avon cut in impatiently. At that moment Dayna and Tarrant returned. Standing between them was Servalan, showing no sign of her earlier emotional outburst in her pale expressionless features.

"I trust you found your quarters comfortable, Servalan," Avon said with icy politeness. "I know that to stay on the Liberator fulfils one of you greatest wishes."

Servalan regarded him coolly. "I have enjoyed better, but they were adequate for my purpose. When I control the Liberator, I will have them redesigned to my liking. Or I might take yours, Avon. That would give me profound pleasure," Servalan acknowledged with a slight incline of her head. Tarrant and Dayna looked on in disgust.

The corners of Avon's lips turned up in a mockery of a smile. With a final glance at the controls he stood, and with one hand he gestured to the teleport bay.

Hurriedly Tarrant shepherded Servalan into the alcove. A second later Dayna followed, having grabbed three bracelets from the storage rack to the left of the alcove. Dayna roughly clasped one around Servalan's wrist before snapping the second around her own. The third she handed to Tarrant.

At that moment Vila wandered in, yawning, obviously still in great discomfort. With a grimace of pain he sank into the chair Avon had just vacated, replacing him at the controls, trying as he did so not to jolt any part of his body, especially his head. Avon snatched a bracelet and with one step joined the others in the teleport bay. Avon gave a curt nod. They were ready. With an answering nod, Vila manipulated the controls and the four were engulfed in a shimmering green haze. Rapidly their bodies became transparent, growing fainter and more ill-defined until they blinked from sight. The remnants of the shimmer fell to the floor and the alcove was empty. Vila waited expectantly. After a long minute there was a crackle of static.

"Down and safe." Avon's voice cut crisply through the silence of the room. "Remember what I said, Vila," it continued. There was a click as the transmission ceased and the low almost imperceptible hum of the Liberator's engines once more became the dominant sound. Vila stared at the speaker, half-expecting it to blare into life with urgent commands to bring them up. As the minutes passed and the speaker remained silent, Vila felt his eyelids start to droop, boredom and fatigue taking their inevitable toll. After a moment his head lolled forward and he jerked awake with a start. He had to stay awake. If Avon found him asleep on duty after his warnings, Vila knew his life expectancy would be next to nothing. Why had he drunk so much? With increasing desperation Vila tried every trick he could remember to remain awake: slapping his cheeks with the palms of his hands, pacing around and around the console until his legs protested from the effort, taking gulps of cool water from a carafe someone had thoughtfully supplied. Nothing seemed to be working. The insidious effects of last night's alcohol, coupled with the comfortable warmth of the Liberator and the drowsy hum of the engines, were lulling him into a state of serene drowsiness. Finally he leant against the wall behind the console, praying that the effort of standing would keep him conscious, but even as he prayed he could feel his legs buckling, his back sliding slowly down the wall, until his knees were tucked in front of his chest. Letting out a long breath of submission, he laid his arms across his knees to form a pillow, rested his head upon them, and allowed sleep to claim him.


	4. The Carillion Aspect

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**A/N: Apologies for the length of time it has taken to post this next chapter - As a paranoid android once said "Life. Don't talk to me about life..."**

**Thank you to everyone who's read. Special thanks to cjh4ever. And, as always, grateful thanks to Orion for making time to practise her**** excellent beta skills****.**

**Anyone wanting to know more of Avon's past, as described here, should read Paul Darrow's most excellent novel 'Avon: A Terrible Aspect'.  
**

**Reviews are very welcome.**

**

* * *

**_The Carillion Aspect_

As the enveloping green light that obscured their vision faded, Avon and the others could see that they'd been deposited in the centre of a vast cavern.

Beneath their feet the ground was uneven, and Servalan stumbled desperately trying to keep her balance in her impractical high-heeled shoes. She clutched at Dayna's arm, looking for a measure of support, but her hand was shaken off in disgust. Servalan swayed alarmingly but just managed to remain upright. As she steadied she drew herself up to her full imperious height and looked around her with carefully contained interest, her quick eyes taking in every detail, whilst outwardly appearing totally disinterested.

Avon, Dayna and Tarrant looked round with open interest, their expressions were wary, their weapons half-drawn from holsters. The cave appeared deserted. It was certainly cathedral-like. One rocky wall, clearly illuminated in the flickering light, arched away high above, disappearing into darkness and shadows, while the other walls were nowhere to be seen. The contours of the wall showed every sign that the cavern had been naturally formed, swirling patterns of water erosion giving the rock almost a decorative appearance. But there was evidence here and there that nature at some time in the past had been given a hand, one more human. Although the surface of the cavern floor was uneven, littered with the small pits and crests associated with an old river bed, it was clear of the stones and boulders Avon would have expected. The light was provided by a flickering collection of pale yellow flames emanating from a golden bowl which topped a pedestal some metres away, close to the towering wall of the cave. Lazy circles of smoke spiralled their way upwards above the flames and Avon caught the faintly acrid smell of burning oil, overlaid by the more pungent and pleasant smell of some unidentifiable herb. The smoky yellow light glinted from the reflective surface of the bowl, picking out in reddy-gold the outlines of a tall statue next to the pedestal.

Avon raised his wrist to his mouth. "Down and safe," he said, activating the comms link to the _Liberator_ and the waiting Vila. Certainly there didn't appear to be any threat. No-one had tried to take their heads off within seconds of materialising. Still, appearances could frequently be deceptive. "Remember what I said, Vila." He allowed a measure of menace to carry through into his words. It wasn't that he didn't trust Vila to do his job; in truth, the Delta thief was one of the few people he did trust. But right now he needed Vila to be afraid of him.

Lowering the communicator to his side Avon peered curiously into the flickering light, trying to distinguish more details of the glowing stone. Beside him his three companions were regarding the mysterious stature with similar curiosity. Although he could not make out the features, the outline of the statue was clearly female and clad in long flowing robes. A deity. Maybe the religious icon of the inhabitants.

After several seconds, at Avon's silent signal, they began to edge towards the statue, Avon leading, his gun now fully drawn. Behind him followed Dayna, her hand clasped tightly around Servalan's upper arm, and at the rear Tarrant, gun also drawn, who scanned the silent darkness behind them. As they drew nearer to the flames, the statue appeared to take a single step towards them. Avon stopped dead, trying to decide if it was a simple trick of the light. For a moment Avon could hear nothing but the hammering of his heart in his chest and his own shallow breaths, echoed by those of Dayna, Servalan and Tarrant behind him. Then a soft woman's voice called for light. Avon instantly recognised it as the haunting voice which had spoken to him on the flight deck of the _Liberator_. In seconds the whole cave was ablaze in brilliant torch light, carried by figures appearing from tunnels and crevices opening in the cave walls.

In the light the cavern grew still further, exposing a cathedral of rock. Stalagmite columns rose from the floor at either side of the cave, high above stalactites dropped from the ceiling, in places meeting to form columns of indescribable beauty, each banded in a rainbow of vibrant earthy reds, browns, blues, greens and pearly whites. The centre of the cave was clear, with just the stumpy remains of other such columns to show that the cave had once been a forest of the limestone formations. Only in the area where they stood had the cave formations been scoured away by the later actions of an underground river.

In the sudden blinding light, Dayna, Tarrant, and Servalan found they had to shield their eyes from the glare, but Avon blinked just twice and stared steadily at the figure before him. The statue was revealed as a young woman of beauty such as Avon had never seen before. A halo of flaming copper hair cascaded freely down her back, out of sight. She was adorned in long robes of the palest green, appearing almost white in the torchlight, edged with intricate gold embroidery, of a style only seen in ancient Greece many thousands of years ago on Earth. Avon took a step backwards, overwhelmed, his gun hanging forgotten by his side. She was a goddess, he thought in disbelief, not of this world. A living deity.

Somewhere behind him Tarrant rubbed his eyes for the last time, took in the sudden influx of people standing about them and swung round in alarm. As he rested his gaze on the woman before him he stopped dead, eyes wide, his warning cry dying in his throat.

"Close your mouth, Tarrant," Dayna whispered, looking at the dazed expression of her companion with amusement.

Tarrant started and glancing at Dayna smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he excused himself, but his eyes returned almost involuntarily to the vision before him. "But I think the one you should be telling is Avon."

Dayna shifted her frank appraising stare from the woman to Avon's face. To her amazement she saw that his face, usually closed and expressionless, was now alive with frank admiration and curiosity. So Servalan has competition, she thought with satisfaction. Her satisfaction increased when, casting a look at Servalan, she found that particular individual also observing Avon's unexpected reaction, her eyes dark and narrowed with jealousy, even hate, for the unknown woman. Apparently Vila wasn't far from the mark, she mused.

The woman took a few regal steps forward, her movement hardly disturbing her robes, until she stood directly before Avon. Piercing pale jade green eyes, calm and yet shrewdly measuring, met Avon's dark appreciative ones, holding them as she swept down in a low elegant curtsy. Avon reached out his free hand towards her and she took it, rising to face him. Her fingers were surprisingly warm, her skin smooth, dispelling the last illusion of an effigy of marble.

"I am Rhiannon, daughter of Hefeydd. I welcome you to Carillion," she said calmly, in the low, almost husky, voice Avon remembered. The merest suggestion of a smile curled full dusky lips. Fine bone structure coupled with alabaster skin leant credence to their initial impression of a marble statue but up close Avon could just detect traces of the puppy fat in her cheeks, giving away the fact that, despite her mature tone of voice and posture, she could be no more than twenty years old. Practically a child, Avon thought with surprise, yet she exuded an air of worldly wisdom.

"My name is Avon, this is Dayna and Tarrant," Avon responded, indicating his companions with a dismissive wave of his hand. As he spoke he returned his gun to his holster. At his action, Dayna and Tarrnat followed suit, although Dayna tightened her grip on Servalan's arm. "Thank you for the warm welcome. We are pleased to finally be here." Avon's voice hardened. "May I also present Commissioner Sleer, who I feel is less than pleased."

On hearing Commissioner Sleer's name, Rhiannon's green eyes darkened briefly in anger before their placid gaze was restored once more. "I am sorry that my father was not here to greet you but he is unwell today. I have been instructed to take you to him. I was unprepared for Commissioner Sleer's presence however." For the first time Avon saw her implacable calm façade waver slightly.

"Dayna and Tarrant have accompanied me specifically to look after this particular guest," Avon reassured her. "If you could show us a room where they may wait," he suggested with a smile.

The spark of relief in Rhiannon's eyes was immediate. "Of course. I have prepared a suite of rooms for your convenience. My assistants will show them the way." At a brief wave of her hand, two attendants stepped forward from the nearest opening in the cave wall and indicated for Tarrant and Dayna to follow them. Swapping positions, Tarrant took the lead whilst Dayna roughly pushed Servalan in front of her, sandwiching her between them. With a last look at Avon, still focused on Rhiannon, they followed the men from the cave. Rhiannon took a step to one side and indicated for Avon to follow her. Avon looked at the corridor Servalan, Dayna and Tarrant had taken and gave a small cold smile. Then he nodded to Rhiannon and followed after her.

* * *

Rhiannon led the way down a long, narrow, straight and dimly lit corridor hewn out of solid rock. Unlike the cavern, this corridor clearly owed more to man than nature, the signs of tool working clearly visible on every surface. Every few metres a flaming torch set into the wall cast a small circle of yellow light across the bare rock. Walking a few paces behind Rhiannon, Avon stared at her back, bare to just above her waist. Her hair, falling across the exposed skin, glinted in the firelight, taking on the appearance of living flame. Avon swallowed, the desire to reach out and brush his hand through the silky hair to find to the soft skin beneath almost unbearable. As if sensing his scrutiny, not to mention his discomfort, Rhiannon glanced behind her to pass a soft smile at him.

Stung at her perceptiveness, Avon commented, "You've not done this before, have you?"

Rhiannon stopped abruptly and swung round to face him. "What do you mean?" she said hotly.

"Playing at being the princess."

Rhiannon flushed a becoming shade of crimson but nevertheless retorted hautily, "I am the daughter of Hefeydd, heir to the throne of Carillion. I do not play at anything."

Avon gave a short, barking laugh. "True. But you were uncomfortable at having to greet us formally."

"How did you know?" Rhiannon blurted out, stung into answering by Avon's accuracy.

"Your hands were hot, and you were trembling," Avon said bluntly. "Just a fraction, but I could feel it. If you'd been trained to perform formal duties, you would not have been that nervous."

"Was it that obvious?" Rhiannon asked quietly.

"Only to me," Avon replied kindly.

After a few moments of silence, while Rhiannon gathered her somewhat battered dignity together, she said finally, "It was my father's idea. He thought we ought to make a good first impression. This is the only dress I own. It's for my wedding, when I get around to it. I prefer more practical clothing," she finished laughingly, although Avon could detect a hint of sadness behind her smile.

"It is very beautiful," he said honestly. "As are you." Avon knew he shouldn't have said it. Indeed, he wasn't entirely sure why he had. It had been a long time since another person had awakened such unguarded feelings in him. And almost without exception it led to nothing but pain and betrayal. There were only two people for whom such feelings had proved worth the risk and even one of them had betrayed him, dying against his will. As for the other...that time he had been the betrayer, the inflictor of pain.

Watching him, as a myriad of bitter-sweet memories surged across his face, Rhiannon felt another blush rise to her cheeks. This man, Avon, was strange, unlike any man she had ever met. She had heard that he was a cold man, unfeeling, even callous. And she could see that, in his bearing, in the way he spoke to the unseen Vila back in the cavern, in his cold dismissal of Commissioner Sleer. Yet it seemed at odds with his kindness to her, covering for her uncertainty at the mention of Sleer's name, his perceptiveness, his unexpected compliment, blunt and yet somehow all the more sincere because of it. A compliment which was even now burning in her belly as hotly as it burned her cheeks.

She was pulled from her reverie by the sound of Avon's voice asking her a question.

"How ill is your father, Rhiannon?"

At once the fire was extinguished, replaced by an equally burning cold dread.

"He is... dying," she said brokenly, her voice catching on the last word as though even by saying it she was somehow advancing its approach. "You are the only person apart from Kieren who knows. Please, Avon," she begged, turning beseeching eyes to his. "You can't tell anyone. We are only hanging on by a thread as it is. Daily we fear that the Federation will find out just how defenceless we are."

"What do you mean, defenceless?" Avon knew the answer even as he asked the question.

"Apart from a few hand weapons and some heavy duty mining lasers we have no form of defence at all," Rhiannon admitted with a grimace. "And if you are wondering about the bomb? There isn't one. But as long as the Federation believes there is, we are safe."

Avon shook his head. "Rhiannon, it won't keep the Federation out for long. I know them. I know Commissioner Sleer, she won't be stopped by a bomb. She'll take over from inside, from within your organisation."

"I don't believe that, Avon." Rhiannon retorted disbelievingly. "I've known everyone in this complex since I was a child."

"It won't make a difference." Avon sighed, and looked at her with something approaching pity. "If Commissioner Sleer wants this planet she will get it."

There was an imperceptible slump of Rhiannon's shoulders as she acknowledged the truth of Avon's words. "We'll just have to take that chance," she breathed softly. "I have to believe we can do this. With any luck, this whole thing will be over before she can make a move."

"Well, she can't give any orders at the moment," Avon said briskly, directing an encouraging smile in her direction, which, after a moment, Rhiannon returned, comforted. She started to move off but Avon laid a staying hand on her shoulder and she had to turn back to face him. The smile had vanished and his face was stony.

"Who is Kieren?"

Rhiannon blinked at him in surprise.

"My Karnah...betrothed," she explained slowly, her jade green eyes fixed unerringly on Avon's face.

"I see." Avon felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach. He had spent his life trying to push emotions to the back of his mind, separating them into compartments that could be locked securely away and consigned to oblivion. Emotion made you weak; it would destroy you. He had learnt that lesson the hard way with Anna. His desire to avenge her death had driven him mad. The knowledge that she had, in fact, betrayed him had driven him to kill her, but the madness had remained and it had nearly destroyed him. It had destroyed the _Liberator_...and Cally. The flames of jealousy ignited in him now, jealousy of this unknown Kieren, was just such an emotion. It had to be suppressed. Eyes closing, he took a calming deep breath, thrusting the emotion to his subconscious, picturing it locked securely behind a heavy wooden door.

Rhiannon saw that her answer had upset her companion but she could think of nothing useful to say in reply. She desperately wanted to soften what had obviously been a heavy blow. As she watched Avon's face in the half light, she saw his expression change from one of remembering painful memories, to one of despair, finally settling on a mask of indifference, his eyes shuttered. The sight chilled her. Turning away rapidly, she moved on. After a second she heard Avon soft footfalls behind her but she did not turn and they continued in silence.

After a further minute or so of walking, the narrow tunnel widened out, forming a small cave. Recessed in the walls were a number of heavy wooden doors leading to, Avon presumed, small antechambers beyond. Rhiannon halted before one and knocked softly. Without waiting for a reply she turned the handle set half way down the door and pushed. The door swung open and Rhiannon stepped inside. Avon followed her, looking around curiously. He was inside another cave, this time brightly lit with numerous torches and candles. Avon stared curiously at the candles. Although he was familiar with the concept, and had seem them often on his travels on planets inhabited by more primitive peoples, he had never seen examples such as these except in ancient history books during his early studies. These were tall, some three feet in length, their wax coloured in dark reds, greens and golds, standing in groups of three on low ornately carved wooden plinths, their dark wood polished to a high sheen. Around the edges of the wall, heavy pieces of furniture, also heavily carved and manufactured from the same dark polished wood. sat incongruously against the hewn rock. In the centre of the cave sat a round table, set with eight chairs, all worked in that same dark wood. At the far side of the cave, an alcove was concealed behind a finely stitched and somewhat faded hanging tapestry depicting a hunting scene.

"I've never seen so many ancient Earth artefacts in one room," he said in awe, the hushed reverence of the room overwhelming him.

"My father's people came from Earth. They brought these things with them. They were very old then," Rhiannon explained with a smile.

She glided across the room and with one sweep of her hand drew back the hanging. Beyond its folds was a low bed on which reposed a shrunken, frail old man. Avon could see he was close to death. Summoning the strength from somewhere deep within him, the man beckoned for them to approach the bed.

"Rhiannon, my child," the man breathed, hardly audible. "So this is Avon from the _Liberator_."

"Yes, Father," his daughter replied gently.

"Leave us now. I will talk to this man alone." Despite the frailty of his voice, Avon could feel the steel ringing through the man's words, the words of a king expecting to be obeyed.

Without a word Rhiannon bowed to her father, then to Avon, and left the room.

"Come closer, Avon. I cannot see you from that distance," the man said impatiently; again the tone of command was evident. Avon moved to the edge of the bed and leant forward over the old man.

"You have the look of your father, Kerr Avon," Hefeydd pronounced and coughed violently.

Avon reeled backwards in shock. He had never known his father or, apart from his mother or the man who killed him, met anyone else who had known him. He waited until Hefeydd's coughing had subsided before speaking. "He died before I was born. How did you know him?" The question was abrupt, barely polite.

"We were friends, Rogue Avon and I," Hefeydd explained in halting breaths, each word clearly an effort to form. "I saw him last just before his death. He mentioned your mother, and asked me to watch over her for him. I think he knew she was expecting his son."

"So did you?"

"I tried. She didn't want my assistance. I think she thought I would stir up things best left forgotten. We spoke a number of times but in the end I met her only once, when she was bonded to Pi Grant. I wanted to make sure that he was a suitable surrogate father for you. She told me all about you. About your destiny. Since then I've followed your life. Your achievements in fighting the Federation..." Avon gave a contemptuous snort. The freedom fighters hadn't achieved anything, merely been a troublesome thorn in the Federation's side. Hefeydd saw his reaction and smiled. As he expected Avon was blind to the symbol of hope that he and Blake had become. It didn't matter that their successes had been minor. To billions on oppressed worlds about the galaxy they were heroes. He said seriously, "Your father would have been proud of you, Avon. I have been proud of you."

Avon felt strangely humbled, somehow words which would have sounded patronising from many men did not sound so from this man. "Thank you," he said quietly, and for once sincerely.

"Tell me," Hefeydd said, pulling himself upright with effort and waving away Avon's offer of assistance, "Are you happy, Avon?"

Avon considered the question for a moment, a telling frown on his face. "It is not something I think about. I suppose I am neither happy nor unhappy. I simply am."

Hefeydd gave a weak snort of laughter. "You sound much like your father. He was a cynical man too. He could never settle in one place either...or with one woman."

Avon smiled, a touch frostily. "Since you know so much about me, I'm surprised you don't know about the women in my life too."

"I do, I'd just like to hear it from you."

Avon felt a sudden wave of annoyance at the thought that this old man had apparently been keeping tabs on him, despite his best efforts to stay off the radar. He decided to humour the man, but his voice was sharp, his anger plain.

"There was Anna, my adopted sister, daughter of Pi Grant. I loved her and she betrayed me. She turned out to be a top agent for the Federation, sent to trap me. She let me go, or at least she thought she did. I killed her on Earth." How stark it sounded, summing up in four short sentences his betrayal by what he had believed to be the love of his life. If only the effects of that betrayal had been so easy to dismiss.

"I swore then I would never allow any woman to have such power over me again. But Cally did," Avon's voice softened at the memory of the striking, dark-haired telepath, "although I don't think she would ever have used that power against me. I'm not even sure she knew she had it. Anyway it doesn't matter any more; she's dead. I often wonder if..." Avon said, his thoughts drifting. Hefeydd coughed tactfully, snapping him back to the present. "And now of course there is Commissioner Sleer, once the great President Servalan. I feel an affinity for her. I assume that is because we are alike, two facets of the same person. Whatever it is that I feel for her, it stops me from destroying her totally. One day, though, I will," Avon finished bitterly.

"Your taste in women is impeccable, Avon. Not only the most beautiful but the most dangerous."

Avon shrugged, laughing reluctantly. "I do have my standards." He paused for a beat, "Your daughter Rhiannon is very beautiful and, from the little I have seen of her, quite dangerous too...at least for me." The last four words were murmured under his breath, intended only for his ears, but the slight smile which curved Hefeydd's lips told him that the old man had caught his words.

Hefeydd however chose not to comment, merely saying, "This is true. She takes her looks from her mother, her temperament from me. I often wish she had a happier life. She practically runs the underground operation here single-handedly. In fact it was she who advised me to help you, despite the risk to my people and to her. Once the pacification program is extinguished, the Federation will have no use for this planet and it will be conquered, or more probably destroyed. Even so Rhiannon thinks this is the only way to ensure eventual freedom from Federation dominion. And I have to say I agree with her. I do however have one request. If and when you succeed, I want you to take Rhiannon with you when you leave. If she is here when the Federation arrive she will be shot as a member of the ruling family. And perhaps if she and the other leaders of the rebellion are gone, the Federation will show mercy to the remaining inhabitants." Hefeydd coughed and sank lower in his bed, exhausted from the effort of his long speech.

Avon handed him a glass of orange liquid from the top of a wooden cabinet beside the bed. Hefeydd took it gratefully and sipped.

"Very well," Avon agreed, though doubtful that the Federation would allow a little thing like mercy to interfere with their revenge. "What about Kieren? I cannot see him simply allowing his betrothed to leave without him."

Hefeydd eyebrows arched high onto his wrinkled brow. "So, she told you about him, did she? I'm surprised. She doesn't discuss their relationship." Hefeydd's brow now furrowed in concern. "Kieren is not right for her," he said slowly. "His nature is too weak and she needs someone stronger. They were betrothed before this affair really began, when they were still just children. I think even she is now starting to realize her mistake. Kieren is not the boy she grew up with anymore. But if she wants him to go with her, I will not be here to stop her." Hefeydd paused thoughtfully, as if realizing for the first time that he would not live to see his daughter free and happy. As the truth of the situation hit him, he seemed to visibly wither before Avon's eyes.

When he spoke again, his voice had taken on an urgent, almost desperate, tone. "I think it is time we got down to business."

"Orac, our computer, has calculated that the Narox compound needs simply to be heated in the presence of microscopic quantities of silver after the final purification step. The silver catalyses a chemical reaction which will alter its molecular configuration. When the altered Narox is used to manufacture the Pylene 50, the resulting compound will be useless." Avon explained the process, keeping his tone brisk and business-like, as he tried to ignore the bubble of hope that Hefeydd's opinion of Kieren had allowed to form in his chest.

"All the silver needed for the entire operation is on board the _Liberator_," he continued. "If you tell us where it is required, members of my crew will ferry it down by teleport. The Federation on the surface will not suspect that anything is wrong. Orac estimates that to produce enough modified Narox, your refinery will require two days at full capacity. When is the next Federation consignment due to be dispatched?"

"Three days. If we miss that shipment window, we will have to wait another twenty eight days for the next scheduled pick-up."

"By that time the Federation will have figured out what is going on. Commissioner Sleer will be missed and we will have the whole of the Federation fleet on our tail."

Hefeydd frowned. "We better get on with it then. Rhiannon has all the details. Rhiannon, my dear, come in," he called weakly.

Almost immediately Rhiannon appeared around the edge of the hanging and Avon realized that she must have heard every word they had spoken. Rhiannon caught the stony glare that he directed at her and raised her head defiantly, while at the same time frantically trying to avoid his eyes. What was the matter with her, she scolded herself, it wasn't as if she'd never met a man before. But, she corrected, it was the first time she had met a man like this, one who didn't give a damn who or what she was.

On seeing the mixture of defiance and pure panic on Rhiannon's face, Avon raised his eyebrows and relented slightly, allowing himself a half smile. This woman was proving more and more interesting.

"Rhiannon, give Avon everything he requires and make him welcome," Hefeydd said. "Kerr Avon, I hope I shall see you again." His reserves of energy completely eaten away by the conversation, he weakly waved the two of them away. Rhiannon leant over her father and brushed his forehead with her lips.

Without speaking, she led Avon from the room. Once outside in the corridor Rhiannon turned to him. "My father likes you Avon," she said softly, a look of admiration in her eyes. "You must be special, he does not like people easily."

"I like him," Avon returned. "He loves you a great deal."

"I know. I cannot imagine what it will be like when he is no longer with me. We have always been together. He has always been there for me."

"I never knew my father," Avon commented. "But then you know that," he added sharply, his eyes accusing.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I have to stay close by or I cannot hear him when he calls. He is very weak. I will not speak of what I have heard Avon. You may depend upon it." She fell silent. Avon did not reply but his expression told her that he believed her. After a moment she asked curiously, "Kerr Avon is an unusual name. What does it mean?"

Avon deliberated for a moment before deciding to answer her. "I was named Avon after my father, Rogue Avon. Kerr is short for Kerguelen. It means 'desolation'. Very apt I think." He gave her a wintery smile that had chilled the very souls of his enemies.

She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"Forget it, we've got work to do," he replied crisply. The shuttered expression returned to his face as he strode off down the corridor into the darkness. Sighing, Rhiannon ran after him.


	5. Ship Of Fools

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: As always huge thanks to Orion Lyonesse for being a wonderful beta. Thanks also to everyone for reading, and special thanks to Valeska Vampire Queen.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome.**

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_Ship Of Fools_

Avon stalked along the corridor down which they had come, anxious to be free from the close confines of the tunnel. The encroaching pools of darkness which welled up between the periodic flaming torches suddenly appeared menacing, casting eerie, flickering shadows on the roughly hewn walls and low ceilings, bringing to life the monsters of his childhood nightmares. Behind him he could hear the scurrying feet of Rhiannon, trying to keep up with his almost sprint-like pace. Unmoved, he relentlessly strode on, refusing to slow down, not wanting to meet Rhiannon's curious eyes. What had possessed him? Why he had chosen to bring up his past with this young woman? Why bring up something he hadn't discussed with anyone for years? It wasn't logical. Something had made him drop his guard and let her in. It was dangerous. It couldn't be allowed to happen again; there was too much at stake.

Suddenly the tunnel opened out, the ceiling stretching away above him as he emerged into the fiery brightness of the cavern. The vast cathedral of rock was now empty and glancing around Avon could now make out a dozen or more tunnels leading off in all directions. He had no idea which way to go. Cursing with impatience he came to an abrupt standstill in the centre of the cavern. Rhiannon, engrossed in trying to keep up, did not see him stop and cannoned into his back, sending him stumbling forward. Avon flailed wildly, his arms windmilling as he tried to remain upright. After a moment he steadied and, giving a snort of annoyance, swung round to face her,

"Can't you look where the hell you are going?" he shouted, his face livid.

"If you hadn't been going so fast I wouldn't have been running to keep up and I would have noticed you stop," Rhiannon retorted indignantly.

"I cannot let you hold me up," Avon spat at her, his anger unabated. "Time is short enough as it is."

Rhiannon didn't know what had sparked this wave of fury towards her, out of all proportion for the offence she had committed, but she could recognise a losing battle when she saw one. Taking a deep breath to calm herself she said as mildly as she could manage, "Why are we wasting time arguing then?" The undercurrent of sarcasm was plain.

Avon glared at her. "I don't know the way," he growled, his anger barely contained. Rhiannon's sarcasm hadn't been lost on him. He knew he had overreacted, and badly, to what had been nothing more than an accident. Just one more example of this woman's dangerous ability to get under his skin. "Where are Tarrant and Dayna?"

"I'll show you," Rhiannon replied smoothly, her expression distant. She stepped past him. Then, without a word, she broke into a run, disappearing down a corridor at the far end of the cavern.

Avon swore violently under his breath as he watched her vanish into the darkness of the corridor. He supposed he'd asked for that. Cursing again – whether at her or his own lack of control, he wasn't sure – he took off after her. The corridor Rhiannon had run into appeared like all the others he had seen that day. The only difference was that this one was more brightly lit, allowing practically all the dimensions of its twisting path to be seen. Even so, the sense of enclosure he had felt when leaving Hefeydd's chamber began to surround him once more and to his dismay he realised that Rhiannon was nowhere to be seen. His sense of unease grew, as he continued on for some way, the corridor twisting and turning until he lost all sense of direction. The last thing he needed to be was lost in the maze of tunnels that made up the complex. Finally he came to a short straight stretch of tunnel containing a number of the now familiar heavy wooden doors set at intervals along the walls. Leaning against the furthest one was Rhiannon, her face lit with silent laughter.

Avon paused as he caught sight of her, his expression of relief immediately fading, replaced by one of cold disgust. He stepped forward into the pool of light illuminating the doorway and watched with satisfaction as her smile faded, the light in her eyes dying. But as two drops of moisture gathered at their corners, his satisfaction was obliterated by an overwhelming surge of disgust at himself.

Rhiannon turned away rapidly, knocking on the door, her hand making a hollow sound against the planking. After a moment the door opened slightly and Dayna's face appeared in the gap. On seeing Avon, Dayna opened the door wide enough to allow them to enter. Rhiannon mustered a weak smile and stepped inside. Avon followed wordlessly.

This room, like Hefyedd's, had walls roughly hewn from the rock, with a low uneven ceiling. Unlike Hefyedd's it was sparsely furnished, containing little more than a low padded bench which could have doubled as a narrow bed, a similarly low table and a wooden chest, presumably for storage. Clearly this was a room for the lower ranks. The only concession to comfort was a thick rug made of some kind of animal skin laid across the floor in front of the bench.

On the bench was Tarrant, the low height meaning his knees were pulled up uncomfortably in front of him. To one side of him was perched Servalan, in a similarly uncomfortable pose. Tarrant's gun was dug firmly into her side, threateningly preventing her from making herself more comfortable. Servalan's expression was one of pained boredom. Although her eyes flashed with interest on Avon and Rhiannon's entrance, her face remained expressionless.

"You took your time," Tarrant complained, stretching his legs out in front of him and rubbing his sore thigh muscles.

"They were complex negotiations, Tarrant," Avon said caustically. "I wasn't about to ruin all my carefully laid plans just because you have the obviously difficult job of guarding Servalan for an hour." As he spoke his eyes flickered towards her.

"Speaking of Servalan, what happened to the whole keeping-her-old-identity-under–wraps idea?" Dayna asked, her brow furrowing in confusion and looking across to Avon curiously. Avon looked at her, startled. He hadn't even realised that he'd let Commissioner Sleer's identity slip. What was it about Rhiannon and her father that meant that all his usual shields seemed completely ineffective? As he thought back, he recalled that moment in the conversation. Hefyedd had not seemed in the least bit surprised, because he wasn't. The old man had known.

Avon shrugged dismissively. "King Hefyedd was already aware of Servalan's identity. There seemed little point in maintaining the charade."

"So what was the point of bringing her down here? And more importantly, what are we going to do with her now?" Dayna asked impatiently, he eyes passing over Servalan with a contemptuous sneer. "She would be so much easier to guard dead."

"Later." Avon waved away the questions. "She has to be alive to use as bait or ransom if things should not go according to plan. I've brought her down here because I'm not going to risk allowing her to remain on board the _Liberator_ with that fool Vila to guard her."

Avon's attention was suddenly diverted by a bleep from his teleport bracelet.

"Avon, this is Soolin. The scanners are picking up three Federation pursuit ships at the far edge of their range. They appear to be moving in standard patrol formation. Should I take evasive action?"

Avon considered for a moment. "No," he replied. "Our scanners are more powerful than theirs, so they shouldn't be picking us up at that distance. Keep an eye on them. Clear the neutron blasters for firing. If they look to be changing course and heading towards us, let me know." He paused and then continued, his voice sharp, "Vila, you better be awake when I call, and sober, for that matter." Vila's reply consisted of a single echoing hiccup. Avon grimaced and turned his attention to Servalan, who was staring at him, eyes angled upwards so they were half-obscured by long dark lashes.

"They will catch you, Avon," she said coolly, her lips curling in a smug, knowing smile. "Even now the net is closing."

Avon stared her down, his shoulders lifting in a shrug of indifference. "I know. But when they do catch up with me, you won't be alive to see it, Servalan. Be very sure of that."

Servalan's knowing smile simply grew wider. She tilted her head to one side so that the full effect of her panther brown eyes was revealed. And like the big cat, they held a predatory gleam. "I believe what you say, Avon. But what you say and what you will do are two totally different states of affairs. I don't believe you are capable of killing me." The last sentence was silky...almost a caress.

The room went silent, the onlookers collectively drawing their breath at Servalan's direct challenge. Rhiannon realised that she couldn't have breathed even if she wanted to. The seductive promise in Servalan's eyes and voice told a story which, although her father had hinted at, she could never have guessed the full measure. Avon and this woman had a past, one which went far beyond mere adversaries in a long fought war. The two pairs of eyes now locked in a silent battle of wills communicated on a deeper level, that of old lovers. The look was intimate, private, dangerous.

Avon's harsh laugh broke the silence. Rhiannon could almost feel Tarrant and Dayna's sighs of relief. Her own breath was still locked in her chest, a tight band refusing to yield. She needed to hear what he would say. She wasn't prepared to put words to the feeling that Servalan's mocking regard of Avon roused in her. At least, not yet.

"Maybe not, Servalan," Avon spat, his eyes raking her face contemptuously, "but if I fail there are at least two other people in this room willing to finish the deed. I'm sure they will not have the same problem you imagine I do..." He paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully and swung his gaze from Servalan to Tarrant. "Or will you, Tarrant?"

Under Avon's piercing look Tarrant flushed, his shoulder's stiffening, but he shook his head determinedly.

"I thought not, just an isolated incident," guessed Avon wryly.

Rhiannon felt the tightness in her chest ease as she slowly let out a long breath. Clearly, whatever had happened between Avon and Servalan was now very firmly buried in the past. The only emotion she could detect in Avon's voice was hate, cold and unflinching. And even more obvious was the fact that Avon had not been the only one to succumb to Servalan's dubious charms. The knowing expression on Servalan's face had been replaced by one of a curious blank disdain, as though Avon's reply had been of no importance. Still, a muscle worked in her cheek, betraying her displeasure.

An uncomfortable silence settled across the cave, Dayna and Tarrant exchanging shrugged, wordless questions, Avon's eyes fixed coldly and unwaveringly on Servalan. Rhiannon stood there for a count of ten, her gaze shifting from one to the other, waiting for someone to make the first move. No one did.

On the count of eleven she coughed gently, "Maybe we should start transferring the silver down from the _Liberator_ now, given that time is so short." At her words Servalan's face suddenly betrayed a look of intense interest. Avon's eyes lifted from Servalan to Rhiannon, flashing her a warning glare. Then, his expression bland and businesslike, Avon turned deliberately away from Servalan, looking instead at Dayna and Tarrant.

"Tarrant, Dayna, you remain here with our guest. We wouldn't want her to get lost, after all. I'm sure Rhiannon's people will look after you." Avon looked to Rhiannon who smiled her agreement. Tarrant returned a curt nod of acceptance. Dayna looked somewhat disgruntled but also nodded. Avon continued, "Rhiannon and I will teleport back to the _Liberator_. Vila, are you ready to teleport?"

There was a single hiss of static, betraying their underground location before Vila's indignant voice crackled into life, "Aren't I always?"

"No, not usually. Teleport on my signal."

Without waiting for Vila's reply, Avon reached across to Servalan and, without making eye contact, dispassionately released the bracelet from her arm. He straightened and, turning round, clasped it around Rhiannon's slender wrist with a brief smile.

"Don't worry," he said under his breath, seeing a look of apprehension cross her features. "It's quite safe." She smiled weakly. He studied her face for a moment as if making some great decision, then took her hand, clasping it firmly in his own.

The feeling of Avon's warm, firm fingers encircling her own reduced Rhiannon's world to that single point of contact. Servalan, Tarrant, Dayna, the mission, all of it faded into nothingness. She looked down at her hand in stunned realisation. She never even noticed Avon give the command to teleport nor the cave fading behind a green shimmering haze.

The moment Avon took Rhiannon's hand, Servalan felt a blaze of jealousy unlike any she had ever felt before. The look of tender regard Avon had turned on the young red-headed woman was one Servalan had believed Kerr Avon was not even capable of. Certainly it was not a look he would ever have bestowed on her. And that hurt. Who was this child? Some chit of a girl barely out of the schoolroom. A simpering, lifeless débutante. What could she possibly offer a man like Avon, an ambitious, ruthless, driven leader, whose primary concern was his own well-being? What was this Rhiannon compared to her, the supreme commander, ruler of the Federation, empress of the known worlds,? Why wouldn't Avon look at her like he did that little nobody? Why did it matter so much?

Eyes fixed on Avon and Rhiannon's clasped hands, mind whirring, Servalan barely registered the flash of green light that signalled Avon's departure. For a long moment her eyes remained fixed on the space the joined hands had once occupied. Then she heard the silence, the only sound a single breath, ragged and uneven, issuing from her own lips. She raised her head slowly. She was alone, the positions of the rebellious Dayna and the fool Tarrant as empty as those of Avon and that girl. On the far side of the cave, the cell door stood unlocked, slightly ajar. For a single second Servalan stood stock still, hardly daring to believe her luck, waiting for her gaolers to pounce. But the room and the corridor beyond the door remained silent. A smile of triumph crept across her face. Standing she crossed to the door, pressing her ear to the crack, alert for any noise above the cracking of the torches. She pulled the door open a fraction more until she could see into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Deserted. Opening the door wider still she slipped though and vanished into the darkness of the corridors of the underground complex.

* * *

The second Vila operated the teleport controls on Avon's command, he realised his mistake. Before the shadowy forms of Avon and the others had even begun to materialise and solidify, he darted out of the teleport room, careering headlong in a panicked flight back to his cabin. Stumbling through his own door he swung round, leaning panting against the wall as he locked the door behind him. Then, fingers trembling, he fumbled a small probe tool from a hidden pocket in his belt, the repository of his pick-lock tools, and inserted it into the locking mechanism, turning it this way and that until he heard the satisfying clunk confirming that the door had been deadlocked. Only then did he back away from the metal door and sink wearily onto his bunk, his breath coming in short shuddering gasps of fear. He was dead. Avon would surely kill him for this. Holing up in his cabin was only delaying the inevitable, giving him time to meet his death at Avon's hands with dignity.

Avon's roar of anger as he realised Vila's mistake suddenly echoed loud, the intercom system carrying his wrath to every corner of the ship. In his small cabin, the sound turned Vila's already unsettled stomach. Moaning quietly he huddled on his bunk, back pushed into the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible. Chin resting on his knees, arms hugging his legs pulled up in front of his chest, he waited for the rampaging Avon to find him. Surprisingly, after the initial bellow of rage the ship remained curiously silent, but Vila, ever cautious, remained where he was.

* * *

By the time Avon and the others had materialized and the green haze had dropped away, the control room beyond the teleport bay was deserted. It took Avon less than a second to realise that something had gone disastrously wrong.

"Vila, you bloody fool!" Avon bellowed, his cry of rage transmitted throughout the _Liberator_. He spun round, stepping back into the centre of the teleport bay. "Dayna. Put me back down. Now!"

Dayna darted across the bay, leaning over the controls, and within seconds Avon and Tarrant were back in the underground complex.

"At least Vila remembered to store the incoming coordinates," Tarrant said harshly, swinging round to face the bench where only a minute before Servalan had sat, a prisoner. "But the bird has flown..."

"Did you expect her to sit around and wait for us?" Avon said dryly, his face flushed with anger. "Come on."

Avon ran through the open door out into the corridor, looking left and right into the shadowy space. There was no-one in sight. Silently motioning Tarrant to take the left fork, he ran, gun drawn, down the right hand corridor, checking the rooms on either side, most of which were locked. Servalan could be behind any one of them, Avon thought angrily, and he experimentally tried to kick one down. The wood, despite its apparent fragility, resisted his every effort. All he achieved was a painfully throbbing foot which did nothing to improve his already frayed temper. After a hundred yards Avon's corridor ended in a dead end and, cursing under his breath, he moved back to meet Tarrant.

"There's no sign of her. She can't have gone far though, and she has no idea where she is," Tarrant pointed out, panting slightly. Avon merely shot him a disgusted look in reply and raised the teleport bracelet to his lips,

"_Liberator_, this is Avon. Come in, Soolin."

"Avon, this is _Liberator_. Have you got her?" Soolin replied briskly. Clearly Dayna had already imparted the news of Vila's folly.

"No," Avon snapped. "You'd better tell Rhiannon to inform her people that Servalan has escaped and to be on the look out for her. Fortunately for us she's difficult to miss." Avon's mouth quirked in a grim smile before he continued, "Dayna, teleport us up when you are ready. Preferably sooner rather than later."

Two seconds later Avon and Tarrant found themselves looking out of the teleport bay at Dayna's apprehensive face.

"Where is Vila?" Avon demanded in a quiet but dangerous tone. Without waiting for a reply, he marched down the corridor towards Vila's cabin, his long strides and set shoulders radiating fury. Dayna and Tarrant looked at each other and quickly escaped in the opposite direction towards the flight deck. They didn't want to be anywhere near when the storm broke.

* * *

When Avon punched in the entry code to the lock on Vila's cabin door the metal panel didn't open. Not that he had expected it to. From within he could just make out the rasping sound of Vila's panicked breathing.

"Open the door, Vila." Avon's voice, so smooth and calm, held an unmistakable hint of venom. There was no reply from inside, although the sound of rasping breaths quickened still further. Avon repeated his command, his words fairly dripping with venom.

For a few seconds Avon thought the thief was going to ignore his order and he took a pick-lock from an inner pocket of his own tunic. Vila should have remembered that once, a long time ago, he had taught Avon practically every trick in his lockpicking repertoire. Avon knew his skills were rusty, but the door in front of him hardly presented a challenge and Vila knew it. However, before he had chance to even open the panel housing the lock's circuits, the door slid open, revealing the white, pinched features of Vila Restal.

Avon moved slowly, cat-like, into the room, while simultaneously Vila scuttled to the far corner, back onto the bunk where he resumed his huddled defensive pose. Avon stopped beside the bunk and leant forward until the thief was completely overshadowed. Now was the time he would go for the kill.

"You let Servalan escape. That was particularly stupid, Vila, even for you." Avon's soft, even tones, somehow worse than the expected angry tirade, filled Vila with dread and he blanched still further. Then unexpectedly Avon smiled. It was not a good smile, filled as it was with perverse pleasure at Vila's fear. He continued in the same soft tones. "However, as it happens, that doesn't matter, because I wanted her to escape. The timing was a little off. Another couple of hours would have been more convenient, but you can't have everything. Well done, Vila."

Avon stood and took a step back, watching as Vila's expressive face betrayed his relief and amazement at the realisation that he was going to be allowed to live after all. Avon turned on his heel and headed for the door. Behind him he heard Vila's breathing steady. By the door, he paused and slowly swivelled to face the thief.

Dark eyes locked with Vila's soft brown ones. Vila could see his own pale face reflected in their inky depths. "But Vila, if you ever interfere with my plans again, I will destroy you utterly. Without so much as a thought. Think about it." Vila, looking at the Avon's fixed, emotionless expression, didn't doubt his words and shuddered.


	6. Smoke And Mirrors

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Apologies for the age this chapter has taken to be posted. Frustratingly, my life is not conducive to writing at the moment. But the good news is that I have a whole day off work to dedicate to writing on Monday and so I hope to have chapter 7 ready to beta then. Originally this chapter and chapter 7 were combined to form a monster chapter, but what with the rewrites it has just got too unwieldy, so I've spilt them up.**

**Thanks to everyone who is patiently waiting for this story to unfold (I'll try and do better Jay, honest!).**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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* * *

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_Smoke And Mirrors  
_

Servalan swiftly came to realisation that she had little, if any, chance of finding her way out of the maze of tunnels that comprised the underground complex alone. In the dim flickering light of the torches every hewn corridor, cave and heavy wooden door looked indistinguishable from the next. On her initial transfer to her makeshift cell, the corridor had appeared to lead directly to the vast central cave where they had arrived, but in the last few minutes she had tried a dozen branching corridors and the cave was still lost to her. Frustrated, she came to an abrupt halt in the centre of yet another featureless tunnel, panting with the unexpected exertion, and looked left and right into the darkness in desperation. She had no idea where she was or what to do. It was inevitable that Avon would follow her. He would never let her escape so easily and yet, could she really describe herself as free at this moment? Trapped like a rat in a maze, she thought disgustedly. If I don't find a way out soon, it would only be a matter of time before Avon catches up with me. What I really need is a guide.

Servalan contemplated her alternatives, which seemed depressingly few, and finally knocked gently on the nearest door. Maybe if she locked herself in a room she could buy herself some time. Listening intently at the door for a few seconds, she detected no sound of movement or voices. She repeated her knock on the door, this time louder and more insistent. Still there was no sound from within. Satisfied that the room beyond the door was empty, she turned the handle. To her relief, a soft clicking sound indicated the door was unlocked. As it swung open, creaking slightly as the wood warped with the movement, Servalan glanced fearfully up and down the corridor, suddenly aware of other rooms within earshot. When the corridor remained empty, she gratefully slipped inside the room, pushing the door slowly closed behind her, wincing with every creak of the wood. To her further relief, there was a chunky iron key in the lock on this side of the door and she turned it, only breathing easier as she heard the solid clunk of the lock turning. With the door secured behind her, Servalan leant against it, waiting for the staccato rhythm of her heart to slow, and took a leisurely look around her hiding place. The cave seemed very familiar, but that was to be expected; surely all caves looked the same. But there was the low bunk, and the animal skin rug, and the chest, and the table. Not similar to the one she had left behind not ten minutes previously, she realised with a sinking heart, identical. She had run back to her own cell.

A sudden surge of irritation at her own ineptitude engulfed her, but almost immediately the anger was replaced by a wave of unfamiliar hopelessness. She slumped against the door, shoulders drooping, and closed her eyes in an attempt to block out the sight of her gaol. Few people, if anyone had seen her in that moment, would have recognised the usually poised, implacable, haughty figurehead of the Federation, for at that moment she was nothing more than a frightened, desperate, woman.

For a full minute Servalan allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, her fears washing over her. Then she lifted her head, straightening her shoulders and back until she stood, recognisable as the great Commissioner Sleer once more. She was being a fool, she reproached herself. If handled properly, this situation could be used to her advantage. Surely her original cell would be the last place anyone would think of looking for her. Suddenly she remembered an important detail, until now unimportant and forgotten: despite the Rebels' careful monitoring, there were a number of Federation spies in the complex. A calculated smile curved her lips as she recalled the leader's name. She had a guide. All she had to do was find him, or let him find her. He would be looking for her now, eager to help his paymaster. But first she needed patience. Patience to wait until the hue and cry over her escape had died down. Patience to let her spy find her. Patience until Avon had a new distraction to occupy him. Smiling serenely she sat down on the bench and waited, her mind meticulously planning her escape. The game is not finished, she thought savagely, eyes shining with anticipation. I still have my hand to play.

* * *

Avon slid the door of Vila's cabin closed behind him, smiling in triumph. He had put the fear of God into Vila for doing exactly what he was supposed to. He pondered briefly whether Orac had readjusted the controls of the teleport back to their normal settings, and started to walk back towards his own cabin, running over the next phase of the operation in his mind. He supposed he should feel guilty, both for the deception and the pain he was undoubtedly causing his friend. Of everyone on the _Liberator_, Vila was really the only one he could trust with the truth, but he had no doubt that, as his friend, Vila would do everything in his power to stop him. And it had to be done. He didn't have a choice.

From the corridor behind him echoed the voices of Dayna and Rhiannon, engaged in a laughing, friendly debate, warning him of their approach. Quickly and silently Avon ran the remaining few yards to his cabin and darted inside, hastily locking the door behind him. Visitors, even the beautiful and disturbing Rhiannon, were the last thing he wanted or needed at the moment. With drawn breath he listened, ear against the metal door. The footsteps halted outside his door, although the murmured sound of conversation continued. After a moment there came the sound of gentle knocking against the metal. He had no doubt that they wanted to confirm that he had not done anything rash to punish Vila for his error. Well, they would have to ask the Delta himself. Avon stilled, unable to believe that they were unable to hear the hammering of his heart against his chest. After several knocks, he heard Dayna mutter something indistinct to Rhiannon, followed by their retreating footsteps.

When he was convinced he was alone, Avon crossed the room to the far wall which jutted out at the base to form the narrow sleeping bunk. Reaching above his head, he carefully removed a panel from above the bunk. Extending his hands into the dark recess beyond, he drew out a glowing perspex box. The glow came from a multitude of transparent cables down which pulses of multi-coloured light flared in rainbow sequence. In addition, a complex series of sequentially flashing lights lit the interior of the box, almost giving the illusion of a beating heart. The box hummed like the frantic buzzing of a trapped insect.

"Orac, disengage from the main intercom link. I want you to contact Blake, using the usual code," Avon ordered in a low voice. "And activate the sound dampening field." Even though he was pretty sure the rest of the crew were safely out of earshot, he didn't want to take any chances that he would be overheard.

"AS YOU WISH." Orac's petulant reply rang through the cabin. Avon grimaced. Orac's tone irritated him. He had much preferred the whining subservience of Slave, but there was no arguing with Orac's superior capabilities, and for those Avon was willing to put up with a little impertinence. For several seconds, Orac's insistent drone was the only sound to be heard, then Blake's clipped tones filtered through the wall speakers.

"Avon, this is Blake. How are things going?" The voice was practically a whisper. Secrecy was obviously high on Blake's list of priorities too.

"Everything is going according to plan, although we are a little ahead of schedule," Avon replied briskly, keeping his voice low for Blake's sake. "I haven't made the trace yet. I thought I would let our friend stretch her legs for a bit." He barked a short laugh.

Blake chuckled. "That's what I've always liked about you Avon, your unending generosity."

"You mean there is something about me you like? I must make an effort to curb it."

Avon's reply, although cold and mocking, lacked any real conviction and Blake got the strangest feeling that the dispassionate Avon was secretly quite pleased with his comment. He replied with another gentle laugh, then said seriously, "Avon, I don't like keeping Vila and the others in the dark about this. Surely we can just tell those on board the _Liberator_."

"Use your head, Blake! You know as well as I do that this won't work if they know the full story. I'll tell them when, and only when, it becomes necessary. For the moment, the only people I trust here are myself and Servalan." And Vila, Avon acknowledged silently, though he would never admit it to Blake, or anyone, including the thief.

"Servalan!" Blake nearly choked in disbelief. "You have to be joking, surely," he exclaimed, forgetting to whisper. The whole cabin seemed to ring with the echoes.

"Keep your voice down," Avon hissed, fearing Blake's discovery. "Servalan may be the most vicious, devious and calculating woman alive, but I understand her, therefore I can trust her."

"I often wonder what your true feelings on the subject of that woman really are. You're so alike it's frightening," Blake replied. "God help all of us if you ever join forces." The last comment was thoughtful, aimed more at himself than Avon.

"You had better pray that this works then," Avon retorted sharply, "otherwise you might just get the opportunity to find out. I'll contact you at the end of phase two. Orac, end transmission."

Once more the low sound of Orac's hum swelled to fill the cabin. Avon released a long breath. So far, so good.

"Orac, do you have the trace yet?" he asked urgently.

"OF COURSE I HAVE. THE LOCATION OF SERVALAN HAS BEEN IN MY POSSESSION FOR SOME TIME. I FIND IT HARD TO UNDERSTAND WHY IT HAS TAKEN YOU THIS LONG TO ENQUIRE."

Avon huffed in annoyance. The only problem with Orac, as Dayna had once pointed out, was that he was too useful to destroy.

"Just tell me where she is," he said irritably.

"SERVALAN IS CURRENTLY LOCATED IN THE ROOM IN WHICH SHE WAS PREVIOUSLY BEING HELD. ANALYSES OF HER MOVEMENTS DURING HER TIME AWAY FROM THIS LOCATION SUGGEST THAT SHE DID NOT RETURN TO THIS ROOM ON PURPOSE, BUT THAT SHE WAS LOST IN THE MAZE OF TUNNELS FOR SOME MINUTES."

Avon grinned in triumph and nodded. "She will have decided that since she cannot escape without help, she will be safest in the last place anyone would look. Anyone except me, of course. Orac, set the teleport coordinates to match Servalan's position and prepare to teleport me down on my signal. After that, keep monitoring and be ready to teleport if required. And Orac, find something to keep the crew amused. I don't want them becoming too inquisitive."

Taking hold of Orac, Avon opened his cabin door and checked the corridors in either direction. After establishing that they were empty, he darted out of the cabin, only pausing to close and lock the door, and down one of the corridors in the direction of the store rooms. As he had expected, he met no one. On reaching the first, as yet unused, storeroom, he ducked inside, securing the door behind him. Quickly, he removed one of the wall panels and carefully wedged Orac in the cavity created between two bulkhead girders running horizontally behind the wall. Returning the panel to its original position, he slipped out of the room once more, into the deserted corridor. Glancing around furtively he made his way to the back to the teleport, his booted feet making no sound on the hard metallic surface.

At the entrance to the teleport bay, Avon stopped. Leaning against the wall, he poked his head around the corner to survey the teleport bay. To his relief he found that the bay was empty save for Vila, who had evidently returned to his post, now the threat of imminent death had passed. Clearly his encounter with Avon had not overly disconcerted him as he now appeared to be sat at the controls, head down and resting on his hands, snoring gently. Avon gave a wry smile. Somehow Vila's ability to sleep, despite the dangerous events surrounding them, was quite endearing, even though it was also intensely annoying. Avon couldn't remember the last time he had slept naturally, not induced by a powerful sedative, the only thing that seemed to effectively drive away his insomnia for a few too-short hours.

Avon crept warily across the bay. Although Vila's ability to sleep was legendary, it was also true that the thief had uncommonly sharp hearing, able to wake at the slightest of sounds. To Avon's relief, the gentle snores continued as he eased a teleport bracelet from the rack and clasped it on his wrist. After a second's deliberation, he added a second bracelet to join it. Drawing his gun, he moved noiselessly into the boundaries of the teleport and whispered the command signal to Orac. There was a wild buzzing sound and a burst of green shimmering light as Avon vanished.

The green light had faded into invisibility when Vila jerked his head up, looking around him in bewilderment. He could have sworn that he had heard the teleport activate. Quickly he checked the console, looking at the incoming and outgoing co-ordinates for some sign that the teleport had been activated. They were identical. Something wasn't right, but in his befuddled state he couldn't remember what it was. Convincing himself that if it had been important he would have remembered, he shrugged and returned to his watch position. After less than a minute, his head slumped onto his hands once more and the gentle snores resumed.

* * *

An uncharacteristically garrulous Tarrant was conducting Rhiannon on a tour of the flight deck, explaining the workings of even the most minor function controls in an eager voice, each sentence laced with heavy-handed compliments. Dayna and Soolin, sprawled leisurely across the white leather couch, exchanged wry glances at Tarrant's obvious and rather juvenile behaviour. Despite Soolin's anxious message to Avon on the planet earlier, the Federation patrol ships had passed out of even the long range scanners some time ago without any sign that they had detected the _Liberator_. Consequently the mood on the flight deck was, for the first time in weeks, relaxed and could even be described as jovial.

Only Servalan's escape cast a shadow over their rare moment of relaxation, but Dayna consoled herself with the thought that there was little any of them could do about it. Rhiannon's people were making a thorough sweep of the complex below and they knew its winding corridors and hidey-holes far better than she, Soolin or Tarrant ever would. Besides, it wasn't even as though Avon was stirring himself into action. He'd been closeted in his cabin for the best part of four hours now. Despite the fact that there had been no response to either Rhiannon or her knocks, she had no doubt that he had been inside, plotting his next move, trying to stay one step ahead of his nemesis. And, she reasoned, if Avon wasn't worried, there seemed little point in the rest of the crew getting worked up.

Vila too had ignored her entreaty for entry but had assured her that he was undamaged. A curious choice of words, she had thought at the time, but, on seeing his pale face and shaking hands when he had emerged a short time later, neither she nor the others had had the heart to vent their own anger at him. Clearly the punishment Avon had inflicted on Vila had been mental rather than physical. With an understanding nod, she had ordered him to man the teleport and he had returned a grateful smile, glad that he did not have to face the inevitable questions which a stint on the flight deck would bring.

* * *

"A SERIOUS MALFUNCTION HAS DEVELOPED IN ONE OF THE LONG RANGE SCANNER CIRCUITS." Orac's condescending and superior tones suddenly rang through the flight deck. "A FULL MANUAL DIAGNOSTIC CHECK WILL BE REQUIRED TO LOCATE THE SOURCE OF THE PROBLEM."

"Can't you locate it, Orac?" Dayna complained, picturing hours filled with crawling through low, cramped conduits. "I thought auto-repair could handle that sort of thing."

"UNFORTUNATELY THE AUTO-REPAIR CIRCUITS OF THIS SHIP ARE ONLY AVAILABLE FOR A NUMBER OF PRIORITY SYSTEMS. THE LONG RANGE SCANNERS HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN A PRIORITY CLASSIFICATION AND THEREFORE REQUIRE HUMAN INVOLVEMENT FOR REPAIR AND MAINTENANCE." If anything Orac's tone became even more superior. It was almost as if he were gloating, Dayna thought with disgust.

By her side Soolin nodded wearily, accepting the inevitable, and slowly pulled herself upright. Holding out one hand, she forcefully dragged Dayna to her feet.

"You have to come too. I have no idea where to start looking for a long range scanner unit." She shot an arch look over at Tarrant, who was still fawning over Rhiannon. "Tarrant, are you going to help or not? I am sure that by now Rhiannon is an expert on the piloting and maintenance of the _Liberator_. I think explaining the release of the docking mechanism is going a little too far, don't you?"

Rhiannon gave a trilling laugh as Tarrant flushed and retorted defensively, "Someone ought to look after our guest...and monitor the close range scanners, if that's all we have to rely on at the moment. Anyway, Avon should be doing this; he knows this ship better than anyone. He invented the damn thing, didn't he?"

"KERR AVON IS REQUIRED FOR OTHER, MORE CRITICAL TASKS. HE IS WORKING IN HIS CABIN AND REQUESTS NOT TO BE DISTURBED," Orac said smoothly. Dayna looked sharply at the flashing lights which modulated in time to Orac's words. There was something about his reply which disturbed her. She couldn't shake the feeling that Orac was hiding something. And if Orac was hiding something, that meant Avon was up to something, something he didn't want them to be involved in. In the past, such schemes of Avon had rarely ended well.

Her worried train of thought was brought to a halt as Rhiannon interjected, "Orac, what about the silver shipments? We should be unloading now, if we are going to meet our deadline."

"I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THE SOLUTION WAS OBVIOUS. THE SILVER CAN BE TRANSPORTED DOWN BY VILA RESTAL. IT SHOULD BE WITHIN HIS LIMITED CAPABILITIES. I SHALL OPERATE THE TELEPORT ON HIS INSTRUCTIONS."

"That was unnecessarily rude, Orac," Rhiannon spluttered, taken aback by the computer's cutting words.

"MY ASSESSMENT OF VILA RESTAL'S CAPABILITIES IS ACCURATE. RUDENESS IS A HUMAN ATTRIBUTE. IT IS ILLOGICAL TO APPLY SUCH ATTRIBUTES TO A MACHINE SUCH AS MYSELF."

All Rhiannon could do was stare.

* * *

Leaving Tarrant and Rhiannon on the flight deck to monitor what few scanners appeared to be functioning, Soolin and Dayna made their way to the teleport bay and gave Vila his instructions. As Dayna had expected, it took several minutes of gentle cajoling and a considerable amount of reassurance that there was no danger involved in the exercise before Vila agreed to the task. Even then Dayna was sure it was only the fear of Avon's wrath that forced the Delta to agree. Muttering irritably under his breath, he rose to his feet and set off unenthusiastically in search of the store room containing the silver. Dayna and Soolin, equally unenthusiastic, followed Vila out of the teleport before branching off down another corridor leading to the hold, the location of the main circuits for the scanner in the original ship. To Dayna's relief, the scanner circuits proved to occupy the same position in the new _Liberator_. A search of the whole ship, even with Orac's grudging assistance, was not an experience she had been looking forward to.

"Orac is up to something," Dayna said, deciding it was time to share her concerns. She removed the circuit housing to expose a tangle of wires and components. "Which means Avon is up to something. Avon has been so cold and aloof recently it's getting hard to tell them apart. They could almost be merging into a single entity. I don't trust either of them to be honest with us right now. And whatever scheme Avon is plotting, you can bet it isn't going to take our safety into account." She paused and stood up, heading for the corridor. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you going?"

"To see Avon. I want some answers." Dayna handed Soolin the wallet of circuit tools, spun on one heel and strode off towards Avon's quarters. Soolin looked up at the exposed scanner circuits and sighed. Extracting a metal probe from the wallet, she cautiously began to prod the complex circuitry.

* * *

Avon's door was closed. Not that she'd really expected it to be open. Standing in front of the metal door, Dayna listened for movement inside but the only sound was the familiar background hum of the _Liberator_. After a moment, she knocked gently on the door. There was no reply. She knocked again, harder and more urgently.

"Go away. I asked not to be disturbed." Avon's angry words came through the door, muffled but undeniably his.

"I want some answers, Avon. I'm not leaving until you open this door," Dayna called back loudly.

"Leave now." Avon's words were dripping with undisguised menace. Then, to Dayna's incredulous horror, she heard the faint but very distinct sound of a laser pistol being primed. He was clearly insane! If that door opened now, she would be dead.

With a gasp of fear, she fled back towards the hold.

* * *

_**Just how far is Avon prepared to go? Find out in Chapter 7 - Point Of No Return...**_


	7. Point Of No Return

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience. The writing has been flowing this week so I actually have two chapters ready to post. I'll post the first today and the second tomorrow or Sunday.**

**Thank you as always to Orion Lyonesse from taking time out of her busy life kicking butt (her words not mine) and missing sleep to beta every chapter. If you haven't got around to it yet check out her awesome Thieves in Time B7 stories posted here.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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_Point Of No Return_

Servalan smiled. Her plan for Carillion was finally coming to fruition. It hadn't taken long for her spy to find her. A matter of minutes after she had locked herself in her former cell, a complicated series of knocks on the wooden door had signalled the arrival of her saviour. He had been younger than she expected, his face boyish and almost cherubic, but the eyes had been knowing, glinting with the familiar greed for power. His voice, as he outlined the measures which were in place, had been low and fast, his eagerness to please obvious. And she had to admit, his preparations had been impressive; if anyone had the ability to take Carillion from under the rule of Hefyedd, then it was this young man. And from the anticipation that shone in his face as he laid out his plans, taking Hefyedd down would be a private pleasure.

The only part of the young man's arrangements which had not found favour was his insistence that she remain locked inside this room. Apparently every nook and cranny of the complex was being scoured for her presence and the danger of them being discovered if he moved her was too great. Although she hadn't liked it, she conceded the wisdom of his words. He would inform the search coordinators that this section was clear and give her some breathing room, and when he put the final phase in operation he would fetch her so that she could take her place as commander-in-chief. The look on Avon's face as he was brought on his knees before her was one she intended to cherish. All she had to do now was wait.

* * *

The green glow faded, leaving Avon in the dimly lit cave which had formed Servalan's cell. As his eyes swept across the small room, they fell on the motionless form of its erstwhile prisoner, apparently asleep on the low padded bench which served both as seat and bed. Her back was to him and she showed no sign of being aware of his presence. Avon took a step towards her, noticing as he did so that her shoulder was rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. She had the air of a sleeping child, soft, delicate...vulnerable. If he was going to kill her, now would be the perfect time. But appearances were deceptive. It was equally as likely that the appearance of sleep was a feint and she would be ready with a knife, or maybe even a gun which she had found during her brief encounter with freedom. And killing her while she slept would rob him of the satisfaction he needed. To look into her eyes as she died.

No, this was not the time.

Instead he crossed to her sleeping form, not bothering to minimise the sound of his footsteps on the stone, and leaning over her placed a soft kiss on one bared shoulder. He retreated a couple of paces to avoid the inevitable fireworks. Surprisingly, at his kiss Servalan only stirred slightly, her face turning almost imperceptibly upwards. Avon gave a cold half-smile. So, the sleep had not been a ruse. He could have struck her down and ended it. He wondered briefly if he would regret that lost opportunity, one day soon, when his revenge was complete.

After a few moments Avon saw Servalan's spine stiffen and he watched emotionless as she levered herself upright on one arm. Shifting her position, she turned to face him warily, her eyes still clouded with sleep.

"Avon," she gasped, as for a split second her customary calmness had deserted her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was lonely," he replied shortly, his triumph at catching Servalan off guard evident in the smug smile curving his lips.

Servalan's heart plummeted. Being back in Avon's clutches had most definitely not been part of the plan. Her eyes flickered towards the heavy door. No help would be coming from the Federation spy for some hours, and she didn't stand a chance on her own in the complex, even if she could make it past Avon, which she seriously doubted. Better to buy time until her spy made his move. In the meantime it was crucial she didn't display weakness, or any hint that she had allies. Swinging her legs off the bunk in a single graceful movement she stood up and, drawing herself up to her full resplendent height, she prepared for retaliation, the only sure means of defence.

"I very much doubt that, Avon. I would have thought Rhiannon would have been keeping you company..." Servalan let the sentence hang in the air for a moment before continuing rather peevishly, "After all she is very attractive, for a child." Then, after a further moment of silence, she added smoothly, "Actually I wouldn't have thought she was your type."

To her satisfaction she caught a flash of dangerous anger cross Avon's eyes but the familiar cold blank expression shuttered his face almost immediately.

He tilted his head to one side, running his eyes insolently up and down her figure and said pointedly, "I've grown tired of older women."

The look Servalan flashed him was pure venom. "Perhaps she is in need of a father figure," she said sweetly, a calculating and decidedly chilly smile fixed firmly in place.

Avon gave a dry chuckle. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But I certainly don't have any fatherly feelings towards her..." Servalan scowled but remained silent. After a long moment Avon continued mildly, "I am surprised you haven't asked how I found you."

She shrugged as if his answer was of supreme indifference to her. "Avon, we know each other too well. It was a calculated risk that you would find me, but it was the best available decision, given my lack options. Most people would not have thought to look for me here. But then, you are not most people..." Servalan explained.

"So, it wasn't that you were lost and just happened to stumble back here by accident," Avon returned sarcastically. Servalan shifted her stance uncomfortably, and Avon knew his jibe had hit close to the mark, but he continued, "Actually I had a trace on you all the time. The air to your cabin on the _Liberator_ was contaminated with trace elements not naturally occurring on this planet. I could have found you at any time, on any part of the planet. You were never free, Servalan."

Servalan met his dark eyes in a level stare and her lips twitched with a nameless emotion.

"I have never been free since the day we met, and neither have you." When Avon made no move to reply she continued in the same honest tone, "We should have joined forces long ago."

A long silence followed her words, the air seeming to palpably thicken with tension. Finally Avon's mouth twisted in something that was half-smile and half-grimace. "I know," he said simply. "I've been a fool. I'll never be free as long as I keep fighting you, Federation or no Federation. There's only one way I will ever be free on my own terms. You are going to help me destroy Blake, his followers, and the Federation in one move. Then you and I shall rule, together."

Servalan looked incredulously at him and shook her head. "I don't believe you, Avon. The last time I suggested that idea, you said you would be dead within a week if you joined forces with me. You would probably have been right. I get the feeling that this time it would be me who was dead within the week."

"That was a long time ago Servalan. Until now, I have needed Blake in order to obtain the _Liberator_, and I've needed the crew to lend credence to my plans. Even the Federation was useful in its own way. But I don't need them anymore, and now they may become a threat. So..."

"What do you need me for then?" she said, tilting her head. "Why haven't I outlived my usefulness?"

Avon took a step towards her until there was no more than a single pace between them, his face inscrutable. "I wish I knew," he said softly. "I really wish I knew."

For a long moment Servalan remained motionless, studying Avon's face. In his shuttered dark eyes she could see her own expressionless face mirrored. Even now she could not read the truth of his words in his face, so adept was he at hiding his true feelings from everyone. But he did not break the gaze; he was leaving the next move to her. A slow lazy smile curved her lips and she covered the remaining distance between herself and Avon, placing one tapered hand on Avon's chest. Her other hand reached up to his face and long sculpted fingernails lightly touched his cheek.

For one second it seemed as though Avon would step back, then, giving a tortured groan wrenched from deep within, Avon's arm snaked around her back and pulled her roughly into his arms. Lowering his head, his lips met hers punishing in their ferocity. His tongue forced its way between her teeth, plundering the dark cavern of her mouth, where her own tongue met his, battling to take control of the kiss.

After a few abandoned seconds, Servalan turned her head from Avon's lips and pushed him away. He released her almost reluctantly, but made no effort to pull her back to him. Now, separated by almost a foot, she looked into his eyes. Their shadowed depths burned with the dark fire of passion and wanting. Satisfied with what they contained, Servalan returned to the waiting circle of Avon's embrace, revelling in warm satisfaction as his arms tightened around her.

"Can you imagine what it is like to desire your greatest enemy Servalan?" Avon whispered against her lips as his mouth returned to hers.

"A foolish question, my love," she returned softly, her teeth nipping playfully on his bottom lip. "You know I've desired you from the moment we met."

Avon deepened the kiss, cupping the back of her head with one hand as he once more sought entrance between her yielding lips, and inwardly smiled.

Phase Two was underway.

After a minute it was Avon's turn to break the kiss and pull away. Servalan looked at him uncertainly, her face flushed and eyes drowsy with passion. Some of the uncertainty in her expression lifted as she took in Avon's own laboured breathing and unfocused gaze.

He smiled. "I'm sorry. Much as I would love to continue this little...discussion, we have more pressing matters to attend to if we have any chance of pulling this off."

Servalan nodded slowly, visibly collecting her scattered thoughts. When she spoke, her tone was brisk and businesslike. "Pulling what off exactly, Avon? You do have a plan I take it."

"Naturally," Avon retorted levelly. "As I see it, we are in an unfortunate position. We cannot take overt action against the Federation; they are too widespread and too powerful whilst they still control half the population of the galaxy. And we can't make an overt move against Blake or the rebels without risking losing my control of the _Liberator_ and Orac. Therefore, I suggest we use their own plan against them." He looked at Servalan for approval, noting the calculating look flaring in her eyes at the mention of the _Liberator_.

"Go on..."

"In a few days, when Commissioner Sleer's disappearance has been reported, the Federation are going to receive a message from you, outlining Blake's demands which must be met to secure your release. A Federation task force will be despatched to Gauda Prime, under the agreed protocol, to secure your release without meeting their demands and eliminate the force holding you. Blake will ensure that the Federation ships are taken without damage. He is going to teleport aboard and take them from within. He then plans to use the Federation ships to infiltrate the Earth defence grid and retake control. All we have to do is ensure that, instead of just a task force, the majority of the Federation fleet goes to Gauda Prime. With such overwhelming forces, Blake's rebels will be wiped out in a matter of hours. I will then command Orac to instruct the computers on the Federation ships to cut life-support, necessitating the evacuation of the ships' crews to the planets surface. Once there, it is simply a matter of introducing Pylene 50 to the atmosphere, taking them under our control. With the _Liberator_ and the whole of the Federation fleet under our command, the surrender of the remainder of the Federation will only be a matter of time."

"It's an ambitious plan, Avon, but risky. How can we be sure the Federation fleet will go to Gauda Prime?"

"We will pre-empt Blake's message with one of our own, sent through Orac, that can easily be traced back to Gauda Prime. It will be poor quality, coming from an obviously wounded and dying Commissioner Sleer. We will tell them Blake has located the Imipak weapon and has control of Gauda Prime and he is amassing a large rebel army which is preparing to advance to Earth. You will command the Federation forces to destroy him at all costs. Now, who is going to ignore the final command from a beloved dying Commissioner?"

"Beloved!" Servalan commented sharply. "You've obviously never had much contact with my Commanders."

Avon laughed and leant forward to give her a quick stinging kiss on the mouth.

"And then, I suppose," Servalan finished in an amused tone, "Avon and Servalan rise from the ashes of the Federation and convince everyone that things will be much better under their rule." Smiling broadly, she leaned over and returned Avon's kiss, but this one was not brief at all.

* * *

Back on the _Liberator_, Vila had just transported the final cargo of silver to the ore processing plants on the Carillion's surface. The six trips had been uneventful, the natives friendly but uninterested in his presence, seeming only to care about the silver he carried in his arms. And there hadn't been a single Federation soldier in sight.

Exhausted, and his ego somewhat deflated, he wandered back to his empty cabin and poured himself an Adrenalin and Soma. He felt he deserved it. Taking a long swallow of the green liquid, he sat down on the long white bunk, and started to contemplate his life: the choices he'd made, the betrayals, the people he'd loved and lost. The more he thought about it the more worrying it became, and underneath it all was the niggling doubt that he'd missed something, something important.

He was halfway down the second bottle when it came to him, the little detail he'd failed to spot, and it was enough to send him scurrying unsteadily to the flight deck where an exhausted Dayna and Soolin were making the final checks of the repaired long-range scanners.

"You see, Avon has this major problem," Vila announced to no one in-particular as he entered. "He is altogether too secretive. I mean, he goes down to the planet's surface and doesn't tell anyone, pretending to be holed up in his cabin for hours. He really should tell us what is going on."

Despite her tiredness, the implications of Vila's words were not lost on Soolin. Her hands stilled over the console and she shot a startled look in his direction. "What are you talking about, Vila?" she asked patiently, recognising the thief was close to inebriated collapse.

Vila leant against the curved console surrounding the semi-circular seating area to gain much-needed support. "Well," he said carefully, trying desperately not to slur his words, "...when I was on watch at the teleport, I thought I heard it activate. I thought I was imagining things, but I checked the settings anyway. Everything looked fine. The incoming coordinates were still set for the last pick-up. But when I came to teleport down with the silver I realised the outgoing coordinates matched the incoming coordinates."

"So?" Dayna prompted a little impatiently.

"Something bothered me then, but it's taken me this long to remember what it was. The outgoing coordinates should have been set to the cave where I first deposited you lot. I reset them when I took over the watch, just in case Avon changed his mind and I needed to make a quick getaway." Vila straightened and there was no trace of drunkenness in his voice as he finished dryly, "That means somebody teleported down and, since the only person who can't be accounted for visually is Avon, logic suggests it was him."

"He's beginning to sound like Avon," Dayna murmured under her breath.

Soolin nodded but protested, "But Dayna heard Avon in his cabin."

"Ah, but did she? Has anybody seen Orac lately...since Gauda Prime, in fact? Avon has to have it tucked away somewhere on board. We've heard its voice often enough. It would be child's play to fake Avon's voice though a door," Vila finished triumphantly. A little Adrenalin and Soma always cleared his head, he thought smugly.

"Orac," Dayna commanded sharply. "Is Avon on board the _Liberator_."

"IT IS NOT MY FUNCTION TO DEAL WITH THE LOCATION OF THE CREW AT ANY ONE TIME. I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO ATTEND TO. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM INTERRUPTING MY VALUABLE TIME WITH SUCH TRIVIAL QUERIES," Orac voice replied crossly.

"That machine needs a character transplant," Vila reflected. "You notice it didn't answer your question."

"I noticed," said Dayna, grimacing. "It clearly isn't about to tell us what Avon is plotting."

"What about Avon?" Tarrant interrupted, as he entered the flight deck with Rhiannon following closely behind. Rhiannon sank wearily onto the white couch. The _Liberator_ was a large ship and she felt like she'd seen every inch.

"It looks like he's got a mission of his own to complete," Soolin explained. "If Vila's right, and for once I think he is, Avon's teleported down to the surface."

"You're so kind..." Vila muttered under his breath, suddenly irritated at bearing the brunt of another of Soolin's jibes.

"And we all know what that mission is, don't we?" Dayna interjected acidly. "He's gone to find Servalan alone."

Rhiannon's expression turned stony at the mention of Servalan's name as a sudden rush of jealous anger surged in her chest. That woman, again! Just what hold did she have over Avon that he would go to such lengths to hunt her down? It was only when Dayna shot her a sharp startled look that she realised she had voiced her question out loud.

Dayna gave an uncomfortable shrug. It was a question she had asked herself practically from the day she had met both Avon and Servalan, the day Servalan had feigned friendship, the day she'd betray Dayna in the most brutal way imaginable. She understood their relationship no better now than she had then.

"They go back a long way," she said helplessly.

There was a snort of derision from Vila, who appeared to have descended back into a state of inebriated rambling. At once Rhiannon's attention snapped to the thief who immediately launched into a detailed account of Avon and Servalan's tempestuous relationship to date. Dayna groaned and laid a hand on his shoulder trying in vain to silence him. Vila shook off her hand and carried on regardless, now in full flow, every sentence loaded with loathing and disgust for Servalan and for Avon's weakness at being swayed by her. Dayna glared at him for a full minute, her eyes steely, but Vila was uncaring. Finally she huffed in disgust, turned on her heel and stormed off towards the teleport bay, leaving Vila to his ramblings.

Tarrant and Soolin looked helplessly at one another and started to follow her. In the doorway, Tarrant paused and turned back, beckoning Rhiannon to follow him, away from Vila's unguarded words. Rhiannon waved him away dismissively. She was listening intently to Vila's story, her face darkening with every passing sentence. Finally Tarrant shrugged and followed Soolin from the flight deck alone.

As he talked, it became clear to Vila, even through his hazy and somewhat distorted vision, that Rhiannon's face was set in stone, except for her eyes, gleaming like emeralds in jealous rage.

His voice faltered and he stuttered to a halt, suddenly and shockingly sober. What had he done? He swayed alarmingly and would have fallen except for Rhiannon's restraining hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut," he muttered. "You didn't need to hear that."

Rhiannon laughed without humour, and said stonily, "I think I did. You hate them, don't you? Avon and Servalan?"

Vila shook his head wearily. "I hate her. I hate the power she has over him. I hate that I still ca..." He came to an abrupt stop. "Anyway, I shouldn't have vented all that on you. Come on, we better catch up with the others."

Unsteadily, he stepped past Rhiannon and gingerly started to climb the stairs. Behind him, Rhiannon watched wordlessly as the thief walked away.

* * *

They congregated in the teleport bay, Dayna manning the controls, waiting for Avon to return. No matter how long it took, they were going to be present to challenge him. The minutes dragged by, turning into hours. Whatever Avon was up to on Carillion he was taking his time. They were bored. Dayna offered to teach Soolin the game of Galactic Monopoly, and soon Tarrant and Rhiannon were also engrossed in the intricacies of play. Vila, shunned by his crewmates and wishing to keep his distance from Rhiannon, slumped on the floor against the seating bench, keeping out of sight and feigning sleep while he played out his conversation with Rhiannon over and over in his mind. How could he have been so stupid, so woefully transparent? How could he have allowed alcohol and his anger at being put down by Soolin for the millionth time override years of carefully maintained walls and defences? Rhiannon wasn't stupid; she knew what he had been about to say. How long before she passed on that information? On that day, he would have to leave, whether Avon wished it or not. It would be the only way he could survive.

They were so occupied that initially no one noticed the teleport activating. It was only when the room filled with tell-tale green light that Dayna became aware that the controls were being activated by unseen hands. Warily she drew her gun and motioned to the others, calling Vila from his resting place in a warning voice. They jumped to their feet, forming a defensive ring around the teleport, unwilling to take any chances. Guns poised, they waited as an indistinct form began to materialise.

The figure gradually coalesced, the wispy outline replaced by the angular solidity of Avon. In relief Dayna, Soolin and Tarrant lowered their weapons, preparing to interrogate Avon about his whereabouts. Only Vila kept his gun raised, his eyes fixed on the floor at Avon's feet. Slowly he raised his eyes until they all stood transfixed as Avon turned to face them, their questions dying unspoken on their lips.

Avon's face was deathly pale, appearing almost wraith-like in the bright artificial light of the ship, a stark contrast to the black leather of the collar framing his neck and dark hair at his temples. The only colour in his face was the dark pools of his eyes, shining with smug satisfaction. His bloodless full lips were curved in a smile.

Rhiannon shivered. Unlike the others, she had never seen that almost-evil smile of triumph before. Instinctively her gaze slid to Vila whose face was almost as pale as Avon's. And it was filled with fear. Clearly he had witnessed this madness before. A movement by Avon pulled her attention away from Vila.

Slowly Avon lifted his hands, reverently displaying them, palm up, to the stunned crew. They were stained scarlet, small spots of thick congealing blood dripping from the tips of his fingers onto the polished floor below, forming perfect ruby rosettes. Avon's eyes followed one drop of the blood as it fell, watching as it spattered on the floor. He cocked his head to one side, studying the starburst pattern for what seemed an eternity.

Slowly raising his eyes until he looked directly into those of Vila, he spoke, his voice distant and hollow. "I found her," he said. "She won't be troubling us again."

"What have you done, Avon?" Dayna whispered, her voice almost non-existent, knowing the answer before she asked.

"I killed her," Avon answered in a monotone, his eyes never leaving Vila's. "Actually, I executed her. It seemed more fitting, somehow. I looked into her eyes as the life passed from them. I had to be sure, Vila. I had to make sure she was dead. You understand why I had to be sure?"

"No!" Dayna's stricken cry shocked them all. As one they swivelled round to stare at her in astonishment. "I was supposed to do it. How could you take that away from me, Avon? She was mine to destroy, just as she has destroyed me. Father and Justin..." Her voice cracked and, with a sob, she buried her face in her hands.

Rhiannon crossed to where she stood and, gently putting her arms around Dayna, guided her to the seats next to the teleport controls, avoiding Avon's and Vila's eyes as she did so. A fearful silence hung in the air, punctuated only by Dayna's sobs. No one spoke. When Dayna finally lifted her head, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she looked directly at Avon, eyes blazing, and demanded, "I want to see her."

Avon merely nodded. One by one they picked up teleport bracelets and moved into the confines of the bay. Still no one spoke. Avon's voice commanding Orac to set them down seemed unnaturally loud.

* * *

The shimmering light engulfed them as the smooth, metallic, brightly lit walls of the _Liberator_ were replaced by the rough rock and shadowy recesses of the cave room. Tarrant and Dayna recognised it as the one they had occupied earlier, but it seemed unimportant as to why Servalan should have returned here. Servalan lay behind them. Avon turned round to look at her and slowly they followed his lead, gazing down in horror. Each of them had imagined what Servalan would look like in death. Each had speculated as to the way in which she would die, but none of their imaginings even began to approach the sight that lay before them.

Servalan's body lay awkwardly on the floor, one arm twisted beneath her, the other stretched out for help, her fingernails cruelly mimicking the colour of the blood, her face just visible, her once white and pristine robe now stained scarlet. So much blood. Blood pooled around her in an ever-widening lake, dark, viscous, glistening.

What was obvious to all was that this had been a personal killing, so very personal. There had been no shot from a gun to end the life of this woman. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear.


	8. For The Love Of A Fool

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**A/N: I'll admit it was cruel leaving you on a cliffhanger like that, so, as promised chapter 8. More confusion abounds...**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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_For The Love Of A Fool_

"Avon, how could you have done this? This is brutal," Tarrant whispered in a horrified voice, unable, like the others, to tear his gaze from the sprawled and bloody body.

"And she wasn't?" Avon replied, not a vestige of emotion detectable in his face or voice. "I gave her a far better death than she allowed most of her victims. I didn't take her by surprise; she was waiting for me. At least it was quick."

"You should have let me kill her," Dayna insisted, her anger at being cheated of the prise she had hunted so long making her voice bitter.

"She was mine to kill," Avon said coldly. "I had marked her for death long before I ever met you. Deal with it." From the corner of his eye he noticed Soolin place a restraining hand on Dayna's arm.

He barely spared Servalan a glance, Vila noticed, instead watching the reactions on the faces of his crew. He was enjoying it, Vila realised with dismay. He was revelling in the horror and fear in their faces as they finally realised just what he was capable of. He also noticed Avon was doing everything possible to avoid looking at him. Was that because Avon knew that he was already aware just how far Avon was willing to go to get what he wanted? Or was there something else? Something Avon was afraid his sharp eyes would catch that no-one else would? Curious, he dropped his eyes back to the body, quickly scanning for anything out of place.

Almost immediately Avon stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "She's dead, Vila. I made sure she was dead," Avon said softly, his voice so low that Vila had to strain to hear him. As he spoke, he finally raised his eyes to meet Vila's. For once those brown eyes were unguarded, dark pain radiating out clear for no-one but Vila to see. "I made her pay for what she did."

To his horror Vila felt his eyes blur with sudden tears and he hurriedly blinked them away. "I knew you would...one day. I never doubted it for a second," he answered slowly in the same low voice. He tentatively touched Avon's arm, expecting the man to flinch away as usual. To his surprise, Avon didn't move, merely looking down at Vila's hand with a sad half-smile.

"It was too late though, wasn't it Vila? Years too late."

"It was always too late, Avon. Right from the first day. But it's over now. You can let it go. We can both let it go. She's finished."

Avon gave a short harsh laugh. "It was my fault, Vila. She never would have...if I..." His words faltered as he caught Dayna turning to look at them with interest. He lowered his voice to a whisper and continued, "I can't let that go. You know I can't." He looked away and when he looked back a moment later the shutters were back in place, the mask of indifference firmly fixed to his stern features. With a sight Vila released his arm.

"What are you going to do with her, Avon?" Rhiannon said, her crisp voice cutting across the silence of the room. Avon spun to look at her, seemingly startled by her presence.

"I hadn't really thought about it," he said flatly. "Teleport the body into space, I should imagine. That way there is no way to trace it to us."

"I see," Rhiannon replied. "And what will you do now, Avon, now you have no-one left to fight?"

He gave her an appraising look and shrugged. "Live, I suppose."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Avon lifted his arm and spoke into the teleport bracelet on his wrist, "Orac. Teleport the others back to the _Liberator_. Wait for my signal, then teleport me. I need to be alone for a while." Orac gave no reply and before the others could protest they vanished.

Avon released a long sigh of relief.

"You can get up now. They've gone."

The corpse moved, limb straightening to assume more natural, comfortable positions. A moment later Servalan sat up and grimaced, looking down at the sticky red liquid clinging to her clothes and skin.

"What is this stuff?"

"Fake blood. You've seen it used once before, I believe. I didn't think the others would fall for that...not after Blake. They are more stupid than even I thought was possible." Avon held out his hand and helped Servalan to her feet. "You made a beautiful corpse, Servalan."

"You really do say the most wonderful things, Avon. I know women who would gladly die for a man like you." Servalan smiled seductively.

"And would you?"

"I just did." Touching a finger to the blood smearing her face, she transferred a single scarlet fingerprint to Avon's lips.

Avon examined her expression intensely, then turned away with a satisfied smile. "Later. We haven't got much time...Orac, closed channel, teleport us to the second bay now."

* * *

The second teleport bay was housed in a corner of Avon's cabin. Servalan stepped out into the centre of the room and looked around with interest. The corner harbouring the teleport looked no different to the other three.

"Very clever, Avon. Your own personal escape route. I do admire your logic," Servalan whispered. "You know, I've never seen your quarters before. It makes me feel closer to you. They are very like you, Avon...cold and impersonal. They need a woman's touch."

"And you feel you are just that woman?" he asked smoothly, a glimmer of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"Do you know, I think I might just be," she returned, the seductive smile returning.

Avon's smile broadened. He lifted one carmine-nailed hand and planted a single open-mouthed kiss on her palm.

"Keep quiet, I'll be back soon." He turned, moved back into the confines of the teleport and, with a blaze of green light, was gone.

I have you, Avon, Servalan thought triumphantly, a calculating smile across her lips. I will let you destroy the Federation and Blake's rabble and then I will destroy you.

"But..." she continued, voicing her thoughts out loud, her words echoing softly throughout the cabin, "I won't enjoy it at all. Well...maybe just a little."

* * *

Avon re-materialised in the official teleport bay, glancing around furtively. To his relief, the chamber appeared empty. As he took a tentative step from the teleport, a sudden movement grabbed his attention. With unease he realised he was not alone. Probing the shadows of the hexagonal entrance to the corridor leading to the flight deck, Avon saw the willowy figure of Rhiannon, her face pale and guarded. He took a step back defensively, returning his gun, half drawn, to its rightful place on his belt.

"I was waiting for your return. I need to talk to you," she said, her voice a whisper almost lost in the large room.

"In a minute," Avon said curtly, his voice unnaturally loud, counteracting the quietness of the chamber. "I have a task to complete." With a swift movement of his hand he altered the teleport settings and without a moments hesitation operated the controls. It hummed slightly for several seconds. There was an instant of green light in the teleport and then there was silence. Avon sighed, "It's over. Finally."

"Are you sure about that?" Rhiannon asked tentatively.

"What do you mean?" Avon said suspiciously.

"Servalan was part of your life for a very long time. Are you sure you can dismiss her so easily?"

Avon relaxed imperceptibly. "I'm sure."

"I wish I was so easily convinced," Rhiannon said, her voice faltering. "The way you killed her, it was so personal, so brutal. You must have hated her a great deal. What had she done to you that was so unforgivable?"

Avon gave a bark of bitter laughter. "You have to ask me that? You've seen how she has slaughtered her way around the galaxy, destroying people, civilisations, whole planets in her wake, and you ask me why she deserved to die?"

"I know why she deserved to die, Avon. I know why she deserved to be tried for her crimes and put against a wall and shot. What I don't understand is what she did that meant that you had to kill her with your bare hands, up close. That's not revenge for a galaxy, that's personal. What did she do? Was it what she did to Anna? Or to Cally?"

"Why do you need to know?" Avon snarled. "Why is it so important to you that I have a reason? Isn't it enough that she's dead and can't hurt anyone else again?" He stopped abruptly and his mouth curved in a cruel smile. "Oh, I see. You need a reason. A reason why an ordinary man could turn into a monster. Because only a monster would kill like that, watch as another person's life blood pumped out in warm waves over their hands. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there is no reason. I wanted her to die and I wanted to watch as the life drained out of her. That's it."

Rhiannon swallowed but stood her ground.

"I don't believe you," she said slowly. "Everything you do, everything you've ever done, has always had a purpose, a reason. This is no different, however much you want to convince me otherwise."

"Why does it matter so much to you that that's true?" Avon said silkily, advancing towards her. Rhiannon retreated a pace without thinking. Only the twitch of Avon's lips prevented her from taking a second. He was actually enjoying this, the bastard, she thought incredulously. He was trying to make her retreat, to give himself, and her, an easy way out.

"Don't treat me like a fool, Avon," she ground out, willing her face not to show the nervousness she felt. "You know why. You've known from the second we shook hands in the cavern on Carillion." To her satisfaction her words brought him up short. His whole body tensed, waiting for her next words, but she remained silent, looking at him expectantly.

"You think you have feelings for me? That you love me?" he said incredulously. "It's an illusion. You've known me a matter of hours. Go back to your fiancé, Kieren. Someone capable of returning your feelings. I'm as dead as Servalan, Rhiannon. I'm not capable of loving anyone."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself? You loved Anna, you loved Cally, you loved Servalan, in a way..."

Avon covered the distance between them in two strides, his eyes blazing in fury, his arm raised as if to strike her across the face. Paling but undeterred, Rhiannon reached up and clamped one hand around the wrist swinging towards her. Her arm was not strong enough to stop the blow but, before he made contact with her cheek, he suddenly lowered his hand to his side, his fist clenched. Rhiannon looked him in the face, her gaze steady, her eyes mirrored green, showing no hint of the fear she felt inside. She released his wrist and his hand remained by his side.

"I never loved her. I hate her. I always hated her." His voice, still cold and cutting, seemed less sure than it had before.

"But you loved Anna? You loved Cally?" Rhiannon insisted. "Even..." she paused, then continued. "You are capable of love, Avon. But it scares you. You aren't in control and that terrifies you, so you push people away and build your walls so high no-one can touch you.

"By people you mean you, I suppose. Anna betrayed me, Cally died; I can't see how that was pushing them away," Avon interjected coolly.

"And Vila?" Rhiannon countered. "What did he do?"

Avon stilled. It was as though time had suddenly ceased. Even the hum of the ship seemed to fade into nothingness.

"What do you mean?" Avon said levelly, his face blank.

"Something Vila said, well, almost said. He clearly has feelings for you. And I got the impression they were returned once. What did you do to drive him away. Did you love him?"

"Yes." A single word, uttered in tones of such desolation that Rhiannon shivered.

"Do you still?"

"I can't." Not he didn't, she noticed, but couldn't. A world of difference. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground but she had to know.

"Why?"

Avon shook his head. "It's not my story to tell. Suffice to say anything between Vila and I was all over a long time ago. Now we are just... friends."

"You'll never be just friends," Rhiannon argued.

"That's all we are allowed to be. It's enough. It's more than I hoped for."

"But you treat him..." she searched vainly for the right word.

"Appallingly," Avon supplied with a wry smile. "A necessary deception, most of the time. The others, even Blake, don't know, and we'd both prefer to keep it that way. Vila has been hurt enough already." He gave her a pleading, oddly humble, glance and she nodded.

"It was Vila. That was the reason you killed her the way you did," she said with dawning comprehension. "It was revenge for something she did to Vila."

"As I said, it isn't my story to tell." Avon stepped back and even as she watched the walls went back up and he retreated behind a mask of chilling aloofness once more.

"What about me?" she said quietly. When she started this conversation, she had thought it would be so easy. Tell Avon how she felt and stubbornly attack his defences until she won him over, but she hadn't counted on just how scarred and troubled the man in front of her was. It didn't matter who he had loved in the past; all that mattered was whether he loved her at all now.

"What about you?" he said flatly.

Rhiannon felt herself go numb. It was over. Lowering her eyes from Avon's stark expression, she pushed passed him towards the door. Avon grabbed her arm gently, stopping her mid-stride.

She stood motionless, her back to him, so he couldn't see the tears forming her eyes. "Let me go, please," she said quietly, with as much dignity as she could pull together.

Avon looked at her back, curtained by flaming red hair, and brushed the silky strands with his fingertips. He knew by the set of her shoulders that she was crying and it tore at his heart. Yes, he loved her. He could admit that, safe inside his own head where there was only himself to mock him for his feelings. The great Kerr Avon brought down by a chit of a girl.

Only Vila would have understood. He had always understood. Encouraged Avon to seek comfort he knew he could never give. Encouraged Avon even as he himself remained aloof, shunning the same opportunities. Faithful to the end.

But there was nothing he could do. His course had been set the moment he allowed Servalan to escape. And he couldn't allow this splendid woman to share his fate. Avon shook his head in resignation. He had to end this for good.

"You really want to know how I feel?" Avon said slowly and quietly, without his usual indifference or arrogance. "I cannot say that I don't care for you. I would be lying. But if you have any regard for what I say then get as far away from me as possible. I don't want to hurt you, Rhiannon, but if you stay I won't able to stop myself. It's in my nature. It's the only way I can win."

Rhiannon turned to look at him, her cheeks wet, her face crumpling as she saw the determination in his eyes.

Avon gently swept a tear from her cheek with his thumb and then kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'm sorry."

"Damn you, Avon. Damn you to hell," Rhiannon said brokenly. She looked at him for a moment longer, imprinting his features in her memory even though she knew she could never forget them. Then, tearing her arm from his grasp, she ran from the room and into the maze of corridors beyond.

* * *

Rhiannon ran through the corridors blinded by tears, uncaring of where she was heading. She had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. She longed to be back on the surface, safe in the haven of the underground complex, far away from this alien ship and its tormented commander. Suddenly she found herself gripped by a pair of steady hands and drawn into a gentle embrace, her head coming to rest against a broad, comforting shoulder. She looked up into a pair of soft brown eyes filled with concern.

"Vila."

"Avon?" Vila said gently, looking knowingly into her eyes. He had seen Rhiannon sneak back to the teleport bay. The reason hadn't been difficult to guess. Rhiannon nodded, closing her eyes in despair. Vila guided her to a nearby chamber and, seating her gently on a padded bench, he sat beside her. Rhiannon wild sobs continued for some time and then, empty of tears, she quietened and sat motionless, the silence broken only by the occasional hiccup.

"Why do you stay with him?" she said finally, her voice little more than a whisper.

"What are you talking about?" Vila's tone was wary.

"Avon. If you can't be with him, why do you stay? How can you stand it?" Rhiannon questions were anguished, tears once more falling unchecked down her pale cheeks.

"He told you," Vila said flatly, unable to hide his hurt at Avon's betrayal of his trust.

Rhiannon shook her head fiercely. "He didn't betray you, not really. I guessed and wouldn't let it drop. All he did was confirm he loved you once, a long time ago, but that it was over now. That you couldn't be together. He wouldn't tell me why, he said it wasn't his story to tell."

A mirthless laugh escaped Vila's lips, and for a second his expression was so bitter, he was barely recognisable as the easy-going Delta thief she'd come to know. Almost immediately it was replaced by another unfamiliar expression, one of deep sadness.

"I stay because I have nowhere else to go," he said finally, his voice low and resigned. "And he needs me, whether he knows it or not. He needs me to keep back the madness."

"But you love him?" Rhiannon pushed.

"Very much, and he knows that. But we can only ever be friends. You have nothing to fear from me." Vila gave her a half smile of reassurance.

This time it was Rhiannon's turn to let out a harsh laugh that fractured into a sob. "I think you have that backwards. I tried to tell him..."

"That you loved him?" Vila finished, trying to ignore the stab of jealous pain in his chest.

Rhiannon nodded. "And he threw it back in my face. Told me I should leave and go back to Kieren...as if I could now. He said if I stayed he would destroy me."

"He's probably right," Vila said gently. "He's always been wild, unpredictable, driven by daemons..."

"But you know what they are..."

"Some of them, yes. But Avon's daemons go much further back, before I knew him...and I've known him a long time. On occasion they drive him into madness, and that is where he is heading now. You'll be safer well away from him. All this business with Servalan...? Well, he's worse than I've ever seen him."

"He killed her for you, you know," Rhiannon interrupted. "He as good as admitted it. What did she do?"

Vila's face darkened. "It's not important. She was evil. She deserved to die. I had hoped once she was dead Avon would put the past behind him but he can't. He seems hell bent on his own destruction and I'm not sure even I'm strong enough to pull him back this time."

"I won't watch him destroy himself." Rhiannon vowed, silent sobs wracking her slender frame.

"What will you do?" Vila asked carefully.

"Go home. Oversee the operation from down there," Rhiannon replied. "It's where I belong."

Vila nodded understandingly.

"I'll teleport you down," he offered.

They walked to the teleport bay arm in arm. To Rhiannon and Vila's relief, they didn't encounter any other member of the crew, the corridors remaining quietly deserted. Vila slipped behind the controls and, making a few adjustments, centred the coordinates on the reception cave. He motioned to Rhiannon, who picked up a bracelet and clasped it around her wrist. She stood in the teleport bay and looked steadily at Vila.

Vila crossed to her and gently took her hands, "For what it's worth, I wish it had turned out differently. All I want is for Avon to be happy and at peace. I really think he could have found that with you. If he had let himself. I hope you find happiness, Rhiannon. Don't let Avon ruin your life. You deserve better." Then he lifted each hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss upon each. "Remember, I'll always be here if you need me. All you have to do is send a message."

Leaning over, Rhiannon kissed him gently on the cheek. "Thank you, Vila. You're a good friend. Please look after him for me."

Vila nodded and stepped away, back behind the console, his fingers deftly manipulating the controls. Almost immediately Rhiannon vanished, leaving nothing but empty air.

With an uncharacteristic display of temper, Vila brought his fist down violently on the console. "You stupid, bloody fool, Avon," he said harshly, shaking his throbbing hand.

Avon, stood hidden in the shadows, could not help but agree.


	9. Twisted Logic

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Miracle of miracles but I have another chapter ready. Three in four days – must be some kind of record. I considered waiting to post this, but what the hell, chapter 10 is coming along nicely...**

**Massive thanks to Orion who turned the beta-ing of this around in less than twelve hours - I'm sure she was supposed to be asleep then!**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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_Twisted Logic_

Avon stepped back silently from the entrance of the teleport bay into the shadowy safety of the corridor. He deserved the epitaph of a fool. He'd achieved what he had set out to do: to distance himself from the crew, and, most painfully, from Vila. The thought of all the lies he had told the Delta coalesced to form a physical ache in his chest, making him fight for breath. But those thoughts and feelings had been expected and prepared for. Rhiannon had been something else entirely. An unexpected attack on his weakened defences. She had pushed through, breaking them wide open, filling him with longing for a life he knew could never be his. And with the longing had come confusion, his love for Vila and Rhiannon hopelessly tangled together with a nagging sense that in loving them both he had also betrayed them.

His thoughts were threatening to overwhelm him. What he needed was noise, people, anything to drown out the sound of Vila's words to Rhiannon, echoing accusingly in his ears, growing louder and louder. He fled to the flight deck.

The bright lights of the room were glaring after the shadowy depths of the corridor. Avon stumbled to a halt in the doorway, willing his heart to slow. For several seconds he stood motionless, blinking while his eyes adjusted to the change in light. If anyone on the flight deck had noticed him in those first seconds they would hardly have recognised the man before them. Every feature of his face contorted with pain and confusion, and, underlying it all, guilt. But no-one did. By the time Dayna caught sight of him from the corner of her eye he had managed to school his features back into a calm sneer.

"Dayna, what is the current position of the transport ships?" he asked briskly, not a trace of emotion evident in his tone. He swiftly descended the stairs, taking care not to make eye contact, and took his place behind the main flight console, leaning back stiffly onto the chair. His eyes scanned the readouts, absorbing the information they displayed.

Dayna quickly checked the readings on her own console display.

"Orac has intercepted their computer transmissions. They are on course as scheduled and expect to make planet-fall in approximately 36 hours."

"36 HOURS, FIFTEEN POINT TWO TWO THREE SECONDS, TO BE PRECISE," Orac corrected.

"Thank you, Orac," Avon said dryly. "How long before the modified Narox is ready?"

"About thirty hours. There's plenty of time, Avon," Tarrant commented from the pilot's position. "Why are you so jumpy anyway? With Servalan dead you can't be worried about the Federation finding out, surely. Blake has practically won already."

"You are as big a fool as Blake if you believe it is that easy," Avon returned bitterly. "He could still get us all killed."

"Never mind, Avon, I'm sure you will save us," Tarrant quipped.

Not a trace of humour was evident when Avon replied, almost under his breath, "I wouldn't count on it."

A string of profanities emanating from the corridor behind him prevented Tarrant from retaliating. Less than a second later Vila's ruddy, angry face appeared around the corner. He stumbled down the steps and came to a halt in the middle of the floor, swaying slightly.

"What's wrong, Vila? Has the Adrenalin and Soma run out already?" Soolin joked lightly.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Vila swung round to face her, eyes blazing, his mouth twisted in a scowl. He took one step towards her, his hands balled fists by his side. "Do the world a favour and shut the hell up, Soolin. I've had enough of your digs at my expense. Pick on somebody else and leave me alone," Vila said, his tone low and menacing.

Stunned, Soolin took an unsteady step backward, knocking painfully into a bank of computers behind her. "I...Vila...I...didn't mean..." she stammered.

Tarrant leapt forward, angry and indignant. "That's enough, Vila," he warned, stepping between them. "Apologise."

"It's nowhere near enough," Vila snarled. "You're very quick to judge, aren't you, all of you?" His eyes scanned contemptuously across the stunned crew, looking at him as though he'd just grown a second head. "Do you never stop to consider that maybe the reason I drink is because if I wasn't in a stupor half the time I wouldn't be able to stand this god-awful existence we laughingly call a life? But no, you know me, don't you? Happy, idiot Vila, who wouldn't get angry at anything. Takes everything in his stride with a joke and a smile and a display of affectionate idiocy..." His voice trailed away. Despite the truth of his words, he knew he was directing his anger at the wrong people. Soolin and Dayna didn't deserve to bear the brunt of it; their teasing had always been good-natured, without any real malice. His thoughts were less generous towards Tarrant. But there was no way he was about to apologise.

He swung around to Avon, who was watching him silently from behind his console. His face was pale but otherwise inscrutable. For a long moment Vila's eyes searched Avon's face for some sign of regret, anything to convince him that Avon had not just callously dismissed the young woman's feelings. There was nothing. Unspeaking he crossed the deck, his eyes challenging Avon's. Finally he came to a stop beside Avon who stepped out from behind the controls and turned to face him.

"Well, Vila, what is wrong now? Why the temper tantrum?" Avon asked eventually, his tone mocking.

Vila's face darkened in fury. His eyes wintry, rivalling those of the man stood before him, he ground out, loud enough for all to hear, "Rhiannon has gone back to Carillion. It seems the poor child has made the fatal mistake of falling in love with our illustrious leader here. And naturally, being the warm and caring human being he is, he just welcomed her admission with open arms."

"Why are you upset, Vila? Are you jealous?" Avon shot back scornfully, his mouth twisting in a cruel sneer.

"Yes!"

As Avon watched, the thief seemed to diminish before his eyes, his shoulders hunching in a defeated gesture. The eyes he levelled at Avon were filled with naked pain. Avon swallowed as a wave of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have flung that accusation at Vila, knowing how cruel it was? He deserved every epithet Vila chose to fling at him. Vila opened his mouth to continue.

"Vila," Avon warned quietly, only too aware of the scrutiny of the rest of the crew.

But Vila was beyond caring. "She gets the chance to be with you. How could I not be jealous of her?"

Avon was dimly aware of Soolin's startled gasp and Tarrant's choking cough as they absorbed the implications of Vila's words, but his attention was focused on Vila's ashen face. Avon placed a hand on Vila's arm, but Vila shook it off.

"No, Avon. I have watched you destroy a lot of people. Most of whom deserved it. I have seen the depths you are willing to sink to, to get what you want, and loved you in spite of it. But I don't understand this. Servalan is dead. There is nothing to stand in the way of you finding some peace and happiness and yet you toss the chance away without a backward glance. All this time you've used me as an excuse but I won't let you use me any longer. I don't understand how you can be capable of destroying the life of a innocent child, one who for some obscure reason decided you were worth giving up everything for. I can't forgive you for that, and I hope to God you never forgive yourself." Vila spat the final sentence into Avon's face, a tendril of spittle flying from the corner of Vila's lips to land glistening on Avon's cheek. At the sight, what little colour remained in Vila's cheeks drained away, leaving him white, a wraith. With a fearful cry he reached his hand across and wiped the moisture away, his eyes, filled with terror, meeting Avon's.

Avon captured his hand and held it tight.

"It's all right, Vila," he said under his breath, his voice soothing.

"You don't know," Vila said frantically his voice trembling with barely suppressed panic.

"I'm fine. I promise." He gave Vila a reassuring smile. "No harm done."

"No harm?" Vila's retort was sour. "I could have..."

"But you didn't," Avon interjected. "But if you had, I'd have deserved it. I'm sorry for what I said." As he spoke, he raised one hand and brushed Vila's cheek gently with one thumb. There seemed little point in pretending now, the secret was out. In a few hours it wouldn't matter anyway.

Vila gave a crooked smile and winced. "They heard that, didn't they?" he groaned softly.

"Honestly it would have been difficult to miss. They were riveted," Avon said dryly, though his face was creased in a fond smile. Then his brow furrowed. "Vila, about Rhiannon..."

Vila's face turned stony. "I meant what I said," he began, but Avon raised a hand to stay his words.

"It was for the best." His eyes were bleak, showing the pain he felt. He was begging for compassion, even forgiveness. Vila, the only one privileged to see, nodded slowly and, brushing one hand down the length of Avon's face in a comforting gesture, stepped past Avon, silently crossing to his own flight console, where he began to check the long range scanners. Sensing the moment had passed, Tarrant coughed and pointedly examined the communications console. Dayna and Tarrant stared wordlessly at Avon, their mouths agape.

Cocking his head to one side, Avon regarded his crew with interest. Finally he said pointedly, "Show's over. Just so we are clear: yes, Vila and I were once involved; no, we aren't involved any more and haven't been for some time; no, there is no chance we are going to pick up where we left off; and the subject is not open to speculation or discussion." He continued staring at the women until Soolin flushed slightly and turned away. Dayna held his stare for a moment longer and gave a chuckle.

"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Avon said in clipped tones.

"It's just that a whole load of things make a lot more sense now. Vila, my respects, you're a brave man."

Vila raised one finger to his forelock in mock salute, breaking the tension. From the corner of his eye he saw Avon's shoulders relax imperceptibly.

"Orac," Avon commanded, his voice now calm and collected, betraying nothing. "Open a link to Blake."

"AS YOU WISH."

After a few seconds, Blake's disembodied voice began to echo around the flight deck.

"_Liberator_, this is Blake. What's our status?"

"Everything is going according to schedule, Blake. The modified Narox will be ready and loaded onto the transports, ready for departure in just over thirty-six hours. According to the Federation schedules we've obtained, delivery to all the planets involved in the operation will take a maximum of forty-eight hours after the departure of the transport fleet. I estimate that the assault on the Federation can begin within ninety hours of now." Avon informed him. "Are the instigators in position?"

There was a crackle of static before Blake replied. "We've had confirmation from all one hundred and sixteen key planets. Avon, you had better brief the others in their role in the operation now. They have to be clear what they are going to do. Contact me again when the transports have been dispatched. Good luck everyone." The crisp crackle of static returned, then fell silent, signalling the link had been broken.

"It sounds like we are going to need it," Tarrant said dryly. "What have you neglected to tell us, Avon? How are you going to try to kill us this time?"

"Yes, Avon, what is our role in all this? Are we going to be decoys again?" Soolin echoed. She had the uneasy feeling that their survival was not going to be very high on the list of priorities on this mission. She hated the Federation as much as anyone, but her loyalty to survival was as great, if not greater than her loyalty to Blake, a man she had only met in passing. Unlike Avon or Vila, she wasn't prepared to sacrifice herself on the word of this one man.

"No," Avon answered. "Blake needs trusted people on the most strategically important planets to oversee the rebellion once the modified Pylene 50 has been released. These happen to be in this quadrant, because the raw materials for Pylene 50 are found here. There is going to be a lot of confusion as people start coming out from under Federation control. Blake wants people who are already identified with the rebellion to be there to step in and take charge. That means you three. When the transports leave here, you will each be despatched to one of the designated planets under Federation control to help coordinate the assault forces. Once control has been achieved you will escort the delegated leaders back to Gauda Prime to see Blake and set up a unified council to rule."

"Sounds a bit risky," Vila pointed out worriedly, reverting to form.

Avon smiled, "I knew you would feel that way, Vila. Blake assigned you Carillion. It will have minimal expected resistance, and, once the Narox has been dispatched, it should be a relatively safe place."

Vila shuffled uncomfortably, but his relief was obvious.

"And what are you going to be doing while we are fighting for freedom?" Tarrant asked sarcastically.

"Watching your back Tarrant, what else?" Avon countered.

"Now why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Tarrant wondered out loud.

Orac's supercilious voice interrupted before Avon could reply. "THERE IS AN URGENT TRANSMISSION BEING RECEIVED FROM CARILLION."

"Put it on main speakers," Avon ordered. Part of him hoped that it would be Rhiannon. It wasn't.

The sound of muffled sirens and klaxons filled the flight deck, a sudden volley of laser fire echoed, accompanied by a number of screams. Suddenly a gruff anxious voice rose over the commotion.

"_Liberator_, do you copy? This is Carillion. King Hefeydd has been assassinated by a Federation spy and the complex is under attack from Federation infiltrators. We require urgent assistance. I repeat, we require urgent assistance. _Liberator_, do you copy?" The voice ended on a rising note of panic. There was another round of firing. Avon ran to the communication console, pushing Tarrant roughly out of the way.

"Carillion, this is Avon on the _Liberator_," Avon transmitted rapidly. "We have received your message. Prepare for immediate teleport of personnel for your assistance. Can you estimate the number of Federation? Has Hefyedd's heir been located and secured?" The fear in his voice as he asked about Rhiannon was plain for all to hear.

"There is no way of telling," the unknown voice replied. "The attack has been undertaken from several key locations at once, internal communications are down..." Suddenly a piercing scream rang through the flight deck and the communicator fell silent.

Avon grimaced and turned to the crew. "Do I have any volunteers? Dayna and Vila, I need you here. Vila, you man the teleport."

Without a word, Tarrant and Soolin grabbed a gun each from the rack and ran towards the teleport. Vila scurried after them, white-faced.

"I thought you said it would be safe. If that is your idea of safe I'd..." he wailed, as he disappeared from view, the last of his sentence lost in Avon's answering shout.

"I lied. Find out if the Federation know about the altered Narox. Servalan may have contacted some of them before I caught up with her."

"Good Luck," Dayna added.

"FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS DETECTED ON THE LONG RANGE SCANNER, ESTIMATED THREE THOUSAND SPACIALS," interrupted Orac.

"They must be coming as backup for the troops on Carillion," Dayna said. "They will have us in detector range in three minutes forty."

Avon shook his head. "If the Federation had transmitted a call for arms, Orac would have picked it up. I'm betting they make a routine sweep this way every so often to see whether the Federation spy has made a move against Hefyedd. They'll come in close, wait for a signal, and if they don't get one, they'll go away again. Orac, I want you to block any signals coming from the planet Carillion except those of Tarrant and Soolin. There is no point in letting the Federation on the planet inform the Federation up here of our presence. Dayna, move us into a new orbit. Two thousand spacials out on the far side of the planet. We should be shielded from their scanners," Avon instructed.

"Not if they come looking for us," Dayna pointed out.

"Then you'll have to hope they don't. They don't have any reason to think we are here. Vila," he continued, pushing the intercom button. "Come back to the flight deck when you've finished putting them down. I want the main blasters ready for firing, just in case."

Then, without a word or backward glance, he climbed the steps and strode quickly in the direction of his cabin. Dayna looked after him in confusion. Where the hell was he going now? The blinking icons representing the Federation ships on the main screen reclaimed her attention, and she turned back to the flight controls forcing herself to concentrate on changing their orbit.

* * *

Warily Avon entered the cabin, his gun drawn. He wasn't enough of a fool to trust Servalan, despite their supposed alliance. He glanced around him with surprise, the stark room appeared to be empty. Keeping his eyes forward, he reached behind him with one hand and closed the door, remaining motionless until he heard it lock behind him.

Moving further into the room, he quickly scanned each shadowy corner. She had to be here, the cabin door had been locked by a personal code known only to him, and the secondary teleport required voice print access. A scuffling noise from under the bed drew his attention. Kneeling next to the bunk he peered under, directing the point of his gun into the darkness. At the far side, next to the wall, Servalan's pale face stared back at him, streaked with grime and the remains of the fake blood. Avon gave a short laugh, this was Servalan as he had never seen her before. He rather liked it.

"Do you mind giving me a hand out, Avon?" Servalan asked sharply. "This kind of thing is ruinous to a girl's reputation, not to mention her looks,"

"You don't have a reputation to lose, Servalan, and you know it," Avon retorted, unceremoniously pulling her ankles to extricate her from under the bunk. Servalan gave an exclamation of protest which was almost a squeal but was hauled to her feet and into Avon's arms before she could retaliate.

"You know how much I enjoy being embraced by you but I am a little dirty and I think you suddenly becoming covered in blood might give the game away," she contented herself with saying. Avon pulled away abruptly, and laughing, Servalan began to brush herself down.

"No amount of brushing will improve that dress, Servalan," Avon said practically. Crossing the cabin, he located and opened a wall locker. From inside he pulled a long gown, two narrow panels of matt-black silk separated by an inverted V-shaped panel of white. The three panels were repeated on the back, but cut low to expose a smooth expense of skin from the shoulders almost down to the waist. At the front, the three panels were connected by a white silk halter neck encrusted with uncut, polished semi-precious stones, their rough facets glinting in the subdued lighting.

Servalan gave a sigh of pure pleasure. Clothes had always been one of the few passions she had which was not power related.

"Avon, it's beautiful," she breathed.

"I wanted you to look your best when you arrived at the headquarters of our new empire," Avon replied silkily, crossing the room to her side and throwing the gown down on the bunk. "You deserve the very best."

"I know I do." Servalan manoeuvred herself back into the circle of Avon's waiting arms, heedless of the blood staining her gown. She slid her arms around his neck, allowing her long fingers to entwine in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Avon bent his head and kissed her gently on one exposed shoulder. Then, with a sudden powerful movement, he grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms behind her back.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Federation assault on Carillion? I thought we had a deal," he growled into her ear. "What were you planning to do, lull me into letting you go to rejoin your troops and then turn round and destroy me?"

"It had crossed my mind," Servalan admitted, smiling seductively. Then she grimaced. "You're hurting me, Avon."

"Good. If we are going to carry this off, Servalan, we can't have any secrets from each other. You should have told me," Avon replied stonily, keeping his grip tight around her wrists.

Servalan bit her lip, her arms were in agony, but she forced herself to remain cool. "I didn't trust you then."

"And now you do?"

"Let's just say I am becoming more amenable to the idea," she replied coyly.

"Is there anything else you should be telling me?" Avon asked pointedly.

"Only that I find you incredibly fascinating, Avon." Servalan purred.

Avon rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation. Giving way to his baser instincts, he kissed Servalan harshly, his lips bruising hers.

As he slowly released his grip on her wrists, distracted by the kiss, Servalan reached up around his back and dug her long sculptured fingernails into his shoulders. As he lifted his head in surprise and pain, she murmured, "Just confirming who's the boss."

"Don't worry, I won't forget," he reassured her. Over her shoulder, Avon smiled. It was a cruel, cold little smile. He had waited a long time for this. He remembered an earth phrase his mother had taught him when he very young: Revenge was a dish best served cold. Well, Avon thought with satisfaction, the ice age had arrived.

"What do you suggest we do?" he asked after a moment.

"About what?" Servalan answered disinterestedly, her attention firmly fixed on fingering the dark supple leather of his jacket.

"The pursuit ships. If you haven't worked it out yet, their being here hardly helps our situation; in fact it could well jeopardize it. We can't risk them picking up the _Liberator_ here, as it is not supposed to exist," Avon pointed out sharply. As he spoke, images of his well laid plans seemed to crumble before his eyes. "You'll have to call them off."

"And just how do you suggest we do that?" Servalan asked sarcastically. "Open a channel and ask them politely to leave? Hardly subtle, Avon, even for you."

Avon shook his head in exasperation. "We send your distress message earlier than planned. A message on that scale will send them scurrying off before they even check the sector."

"Will that affect our plans?" Servalan queried.

"It shouldn't. Blake won't be expecting the attack whenever it comes."

"All right then. You set up the link, I'll do the rest."

"Have you prepared what you are going to say?" Avon asked.

"Of course. I always plan everything," Servalan replied, directing a pointed glare in Avon's direction.

"They don't work very often though, do they?" Avon muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Servalan said suspiciously, her ears catching the sound of his low muttering.

"Nothing important. Orac, patch in to the Federation emergency channel and prepare to relay our transmission from the communications terminal on Gauda Prime. And hurry up, Orac, I don't have the time to argue with you."

"AS YOU WISH. THE LINK IS CONFIRMED. PLEASE TRANSMIT," Orac snapped sulkily. Avon frowned and in silence waited for Servalan to begin her speech. He hoped to God it was good enough to convince the Federation or the whole thing would be over before it began.

Servalan took a deep breath. "Federation Control, Federation control. This is Commander Sleer." She paused, and said, making her voice weaker and fainter, "My party has been eliminated by Blake's forces on Gauda Prime. I am being held captive. Blake demands the dismantling of the Federation on Earth or I will be executed. He has taken control of the Imipak weapon." She paused for a second. Then in a very weak but urgent and hurried voice continued, "I am badly wounded, dying. Attack with all forces...Attack." She gave a little cry as if she had been violently silenced and fell silent.

"End transmission," Avon ordered quietly.

"TRANSMISSION COMPLETE," Orac informed him.

Avon turned to Servalan with an appreciative smile. "You are a convincing actress, Servalan." Servalan nodded her modest assent.

"But then again," Avon continued, "they don't know you as well as I do."

"As if I could forget," Servalan retorted, her smile fading. "You take great pleasure in reminding me every five minutes."

"Don't sulk, it doesn't suit you," Avon replied soothingly and gave her a brief stinging kiss to placate her.

"Avon, it's Vila. Are you there?" Vila's voice emanated from behind the locked door.

Wordlessly Avon signalled for Servalan to remain quiet and get out of sight of the door. Silently she crossed to the far side of the room and ducked behind the side of the bunk which jutted out, hiding her from the door.

"What do you want, Vila? Couldn't you have contacted me on the communicator?" Avon said, sounding distinctly displeased.

"Orac wouldn't oblige. He said you were busy," Vila explained. "Avon, are you going to open this door? I don't like talking to a piece of metal. Although to be honest some days there isn't much to choose between you," he finished conversationally, leaning against the door.

It slid open, depositing Vila in an untidy heap on the floor.

"Really?" said Avon, towering above him in the doorway. "What do you want, Vila?" he asked curtly. The last thing he needed was a heart-to-heart in Servalan's hearing. His eyes flashed dangerously. Vila needed to leave, and now.

Vila quickly scrambled to his feet and moved a few paces away from Avon's glowering face. "I came to tell you that the Federation pursuit ships have just broken off their approach. They seem to be headed back into deep space. Why do you think they did that?"

"I don't know, and, what is more, I don't care. As long as they aren't coming here," Avon answered. "Vila, contact Tarrant and Soolin. Find out what the status is on the planet. Tell them we need them back here as soon as they can safely leave."

Vila nodded and ran off down the corridor towards the flight deck. When Avon stepped inside and closed the door, Servalan stood up and gave a mocking laugh. "You seem to have your little pet well-trained, Avon. Why didn't you get rid of him years ago? I'm surprised you didn't send him packing after the raid on Tarcan Four. It wasn't as though he was any use to you any more."

Avon fought the surge of violent rage which swelled in his chest, bunching his hands into fists. He forced himself to reply calmly. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you? I wasn't about to give you the satisfaction. Besides, Vila has other uses." Avon's voice was tight. "Who was your spy on Carillion, Servalan? Will he cause us a problem?"

"I doubt it. In fact he is more likely to support us in our takeover. It appears he is willing do anything to impress me, even getting rid of that old fool of a king."

"You ordered that?"

"Of course. Figureheads are dangerous. You know that better than anyone. But he didn't take much persuading. It seems he had his own reasons for wanting the king dead." Servalan's chilling laugh of triumph rang out. "As the betrothed of the next in line to the throne, he believes he would be in a position to take over the throne, should anything happen to Hefyedd and his daughter."

"And you did nothing to disabuse him of that assumption, did you?" Avon put in, trying to ignore the knot of cold fear that had suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. Kieran was the spy and he had sent Rhiannon back to him.

"I will confess I didn't," Servalan admitted with a sly smile, "but I didn't give him specific instructions regarding Rhiannon. I left that decision to him."

"Of course you did. And you have no doubt what decision he'll make. I thought petty jealousy of a mere child was above you," Avon said flatly. Rhiannon could be dead already. The thought lodged like a blade in his chest. Another crime for Servalan to pay for. Servalan and Kieren. He would find a way to make that bastard pay before this was over. "Get cleaned up and changed," he ordered, his voice sharp. "I'll go and find out just how much this little insurrection of yours is going to cost us."

He stepped from the cabin, making sure the door was secure behind him. As it closed, his shoulders slumped. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this deception going, and now his added fear for Rhiannon's safety threatened to drive the air from his lungs. He could only hope that Tarrant or Soolin would find her and protect her before Kieren had chance to strike. If it wasn't already too late.

He darted down the corridor to the store room where Orac was hidden. Making a quick sweep of the area to check he was alone, he slipped inside and locked the door behind him. In a low voice he ordered Orac to contact Blake on a safe channel as before.

"Avon, this is Blake. What have you got to report?" Blake's voice filled the room.

"We've got a problem. It seems that the Federation have organised a little take over attempt on Carillion which Servalan conveniently neglected to tell me about."

"Damn! A typical Servalan move, always keeping the upper hand. What's the situation on the planet? Are we going to have to abort the mission?" Blake asked urgently, his voice filled with dread.

"No. It's been handled. We can't do anything about the Federation attack on the planet, except fight. But the forces on Carillion are minor, essentially a few troops who managed to infiltrate the resistance. They will be relying on getting back-up from Federation pursuit ships and troop carriers. I've ensured they'll be disappointed. The situation on the planet will soon be under control. I've sent Tarrant and Soolin to oversee; I thought they would enjoy it!"

"You bastard," Blake commented scathingly. "So, if back-up isn't coming, then where the hell is it? You didn't destroy it, I presume. We can't afford for them to have given the alarm."

"I didn't. I had to make sure that they left without suspicion, so I got Servalan to transmit her distress message early. They're heading your way now."

"Jesus Christ, Avon! There's no way we can be ready in time! Without backup from the _Liberator_, we are as good as dead. We can't proceed with the next phase without you."

"I didn't suggest you could," Avon said drily, his voice tinged with impatience. "Look, Blake, you only have to hold them off until I get there. If you don't show yourself, then they will have nothing to attack. Just wait it out. You've done it before."

"I know," Blake said wearily. "Too many times. How long until you can get under way?"

"Thirty six hours, assuming the cargo transports show up on time."

"It better not be longer. We can't wait forever. Call me when you are en-route. Blake out."

* * *

Beneath the surface of Carillion the battle was raging with fierce intensity. The Federation forces, although small in number, were far better equipped than the rebel force outnumbering them. It was a running battle, short forays through dark tunnels to attack Federation positions, defending caves whose only tactical worth was that the corridor on the far side led to a more important place. In the darkness, ambushes left men nowhere to run. Casualties were high, though higher for the rebels because, unlike the Federation men, they had no idea who was friend or foe. In many cases a friend of many years was revealed as the enemy.

After the first few minutes, it became clear what the Federation were after: the communication rooms and the central control room. If they controlled them, they controlled Carillion.


	10. Battleground

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Apologies for the ridiculous amount of time it has taken to post this chapter. It is a bit of a beast at over 6,500 words but that's not really an excuse. Instead I'm going to blame Christmas and the added distraction of a 5-year old obsessed with a space hopper.**

**Thanks as always to the un'beta'ble Orion Lyonesse for her time and amazing feedback.**

**I hope everyone had a fantastic Holiday Season and I wish everyone the very best for 2011**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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* * *

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_Battleground_

Tarrant and Soolin materialised in the main chamber of the complex. The last time Tarrant had seen it, the cave had been brightly lit. Now the light was dim, only a few torches still burning in their holders. In addition, the contours of the cave were obscured by a dense, greasy, grey smoke that seemed to hem them in. Instinctively Tarrant crouched low to the ground; it was impossible to tell if they were alone, and as they stood looking around they made too easy a target. Soolin followed his lead, kneeling next to him. At ground level the smoke seemed less dense and a few feet away Soolin, glancing around in all directions, could make out the vague outlines of corpses littered across the rough floor. In the uncertain light she could not identify them as rebel or Federation.

"What the hell happened here?" she choked, her throat filling with the acrid, stinging smoke.

"I don't know," Tarrant coughed, holding his sleeve to his mouth. "It looks like the rebels were taken by surprise."

Keeping low beneath the worst of the smoke, they darted to the cave wall. Even so, the smoke made their exertions more difficult; by the time they collapsed thankfully against the rock, they were panting for breath. From what little they could make out, the cavern appeared deserted. Certainly no sound emanated from inside the thick curtain of smoke. The battle had moved on. Still cautious, they skirted their way around the edge of the cave until an opening in the rocks signalled an entrance to the tunnels. Tarrant had no way of telling if it was the one he had been down earlier. As they moved into the dark mouth of the tunnel, the smoke cleared slightly, revealing a quiet straight corridor gently sloping downwards. A hundred yards ahead a single torch burned clear and steady, cutting through the inky blackness. Guns drawn, they worked their way towards the light, backs flat against the wall, eyes scanning ahead and behind in wide sweeping arcs as they moved.

"What the hell was that stuff?" Tarrant spluttered, trying to clear the last of the foul stench from his lungs. "It's not like any smoke I've seen before."

"I have," Soolin replied, taking a deep grateful breath of the relatively clear air. "It's residue from mining lasers, heavily ionized. It attracts the rock dust. The rebels must be using them as weapons. Those things can do a lot of damage to a human being."

"I don't think I want to know," Tarrant commented tartly. "Where is everybody? Do you think the battle is over?" he asked, his voice puzzled.

"How should I know?" Soolin replied with a shrug. "Maybe they're hiding."

The pair moved on, keeping close to the wall, their guns ready. They reached the torch without incident, but beyond it there was no further light and the darkness seemed to stretch into infinity. With irritation Tarrant examined the torch: it was a bowl hewn out of the rock and filled with some kind of oil. Definitely not portable. He sighed. It looked as though they would have to continue without light.

"We should have brought lights," he muttered, looking with trepidation into the absolute blackness.

"Hindsight is a wonderful thing," Soolin agreed wryly. "You can go first."

"My eternal gratitude," Tarrant said sarcastically, with a low theatrical bow. Soolin smiled innocently and waved him forward. Slowly they walked into the darkness, one hand against the wall. As they left the torch far behind, Soolin looked over her shoulder with every step, her ears listening for sounds of movement behind them. Suddenly the wall seemed to disappear beneath Tarrant's hand and he gave a shout of pain.

"What's the matter?" Soolin asked, her voice high pitched with fear and worry.

"The wall attacked me," Tarrant replied disgustedly. "This is ridiculous. Wait here a minute." There were a few seconds of scuffling noises before Tarrant spoke up again. "The tunnel forks here, heading left at a right angle to this passage and right at a forty five degree angle. I suggest we split up and check them both out."

"Is that wise?" Soolin questioned dubiously. "We don't know what is going on down here and we might not meet up again."

"Do you have a better idea?" Tarrant snapped. "At this rate the Federation will have won before we even find the battle."

"Fine," Soolin retorted angrily. "I'll go right. Try not to get yourself killed."

Tarrant heard her footsteps moving off slowly down the right hand corridor before he could open his mouth to object. Swearing violently under his breath he set off, at the same snail's pace, down the left hand corridor.

* * *

Only a few steps down the right hand corridor, any sound of Tarrant's departure from the fork had been lost into the darkness. It was as though any noise had been sucked into oblivion along with the light. Soolin felt that she could have been anywhere, lost in the void of space. Deprived of sight and sound, the racing beat of her heart became a crescendo in her chest and she was sure she could hear the blood pumping through her arteries and veins. Only the rough surface of the rock beneath her hand kept her tethered to the reality of her situation. Step by inching step she stumbled forwards. After who knew how many footsteps the wall seemed to bend to the right. She rounded the corner and saw, ten feet further down the corridor, a flicker of yellow light emanating from beneath a door set back in the wall. She let out a shuddering breath of relief. Federation or rebel, at least she no longer felt like the last person in the cosmos.

Noiselessly Soolin crept to one side of the rough wooden door and listened carefully, her ear against the wood. The low murmuring of many anxious voices filtered through the heavy timber, but it was impossible to tell if they were rebel or Federation. Soolin backed away from the door, moving out of the small pool of light. Finding a small irregularly shaped outcrop of rock close to the floor, she crouched behind it. hidden from sight by the deep shadows it cast. Then she gave a low yell just loud enough to be heard inside the room. From behind the door she heard sudden movement and the clattering of a chair toppling to the floor. Voices argued heatedly for a few seconds, then fell silent. A split second later the door swung open flooding, the immediate corridor with light. Shrinking back further into the shadows, Soolin waited.

A thick set man stepped cautiously into the corridor, his eyes darting from side to side, an old fashioned but powerful laser pistol in his hand. When his initial search detected nobody he started to scan the corridor methodically in both directions, examining the wall for hidden figures. His eyes landed on the outcrop of rock and Soolin shrank back, low against the cave wall and deeper into its shadows. With relief she saw his eyes pass over her to the next section of wall. Finally he turned slightly to the room behind him, his eyes leaving the corridor, his shoulders shrugging, relaying the fruitless outcome of his investigation to those inside. Soolin took a deep breath, levelled her weapon and prepared to fire, then she paused. A woman had now followed the man into the corridor. Her features were not distinct, cast into shadow by the slight spilling out of the doorway behind her, but the flaming copper of her hair was unmistakable.

"Rhiannon?" Soolin called cautiously from the safety of the darkness.

The woman put her hand on the man's arm and he lowered his gun an inch or two, ready to bring it back to firing position if needed. "Soolin, is that you?" she asked anxiously. "We weren't sure that you got our message. But thank God you did."

Slowly, gun poised, Soolin stood up and stepped out of the shadows into the torch light. As Rhiannon's features became clear the gunfighter visibly relaxed and holstered her gun.

"What the hell happened, Rhiannon?"

"They took us by surprise. No-one knew troops had infiltrated the complex; we've always been so careful," Rhiannon said, baffled. "Half the men are people I've known for years. I don't understand."

"The Federation must have been planning this since the resistance movement began on Carillion. They've sent pursuit ships and possibly troop carriers to back up their forces here. We picked them up on our long range scanners a couple of minutes before we intercepted your distress call. I estimate we have about three hours till they make planet-fall. But we do have one advantage. They don't know the _Liberator_ is here. Avon is moving her out of scanner range so they don't pick her up. We can't risk revealing ourselves until they do something definite. He sent me and Tarrant down here to do what we can."

"Where is Tarrant?" Rhiannon asked, fighting down the urge to ask about Avon.

"We teleported into the main cavern. It looks like the battle was bad there. When we couldn't find anyone we split up," Soolin explained. "Tarrant thought we stood a better chance apart. He took the left fork back there." She pointed back the way she had come.

"I hope he'll be all right. The front line is down there and the fighting is very fierce. We are trying to secure key areas of the complex. Our unit is moving on to the loading bays..."

Rhiannon was interrupted by a low crackle from Soolin's wrist communicator.

"Soolin, Tarrant, this is Vila. Are you receiving me?" Vila's reedy voice was distorted by the hiss of static.

"Vila, this is Soolin. I'm receiving you but the signal's very weak. I've made contact with Rhiannon and the rebels. What's the matter?"

"Orac says that the static is due to _Liberator_'s changed position. Well, that and a tonne of ionic particles in the atmosphere," Vila explained, his voice barely audible. "We won't be able to teleport until we can come out of the planet's shadow. Approximately one hour fifteen."

"Understood," Soolin confirmed. "Anything else?"

"The Federation pursuit ships have turned around and are heading back into deep space. Don't ask me why, but they're retreating like they're being chased by a pack of Space Rats." Even distorted Vila's voice was tinged with glee.

"What does Orac say, or Avon, for that matter?"

"Orac is being uncommunicative and Avon is sulking in his cabin, neither of which is unusual, but bloody inappropriate given the circumstances. Is Tarrant with you?"

"No, we separated. Keep trying him. If he doesn't check-in in thirty minutes, let me know."

"I'll do my best, but the signal keeps breaking up. Be careful. Vila out." The communicator fell silent.

Soolin turned to face Rhiannon. She noted how the young woman had paled at the mention of Avon's name and smiled reassuringly at her. "All right then. We only have to worry about the Federation here on the ground. Whatever reason the Federation have for leaving, it is obviously more important than Carillion. It's just like the Federation to abandon their ground troops. Let's get this over as quickly as possible."

Rhiannon nodded to a young, lean man with hooded eyes stood in the doorway watching Soolin. At Rhiannon's gesture he returned a curt nod.

"This is Kieren, my betrothed," she added unnecessarily. "He'll take us to Alpha Section where the Narox is loaded onto the transports. It is imperative that the section remains in our control for the arrival of the transports. That is, if they still come, now that there is no backup to secure a Federation victory."

"I don't see why not. The Federation will assume that they've won. They always do, it's their biggest failing. They can't do without the Narox or their pacification program will fail," Soolin replied. "Besides, the Federation is so compartmentalised, the transport ships probably don't even know anything is going on here." Rhiannon nodded in agreement.

Kieren stepped forward into the light. No longer in shadow Soolin could see a thin face framed with shoulder length hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes, a pale, piercing blue, were shining with fervour. He was devastatingly attractive, his slight angular build lending him an almost ethereal quality. Still, there was something unsettling in the almost insolent gaze he turned upon her and Soolin found herself shivering involuntarily.

"Let's move out!" Kieren ordered. His eyes lingered on Soolin for a moment more and then he turned away, stepping out into the corridor. "I'll lead. Garon, you bring up the rear." The dark-haired, thick-set man Soolin had seen earlier stepped forward his face grim, gun poised.

On Kieren's order twelve men stepped out of the room, each sporting a heavy duty laser rifle. One of them handed Rhiannon a similar weapon, which she hefted to her shoulder with deceptive strength, then offered a second to Soolin who waved it away, preferring the use of her own, more familiar weapon. Without further word the group took up a two-by-eight assault formation and disappeared into the darkness towards Alpha Section.

* * *

Avon sprinted down the corridor towards the flight deck. He had to try and contact the forces on Carillion, to warn them of the traitor in their ranks, even if it was too late to save Rhiannon. He had already raised the communicator to his lips to call Vila before he'd realised that he had no explanation as to how he knew that Kieren was a Federation spy. Not without giving away Servalan's continued existence. He had to find some way of warning Rhiannon's men without letting the others know and, at the moment, he had no idea how. He spilled out of the corridor entrance and down the stairs, causing Vila to squeak in surprise and alarm.

"Vila, I need to contact Rhiannon's forces. Now!" he ordered, mentally fumbling around for an excuse that wouldn't ruin all of his carefully laid plans. With relief he fell on the perfect explanation...

"Orac has intercepted an attempted transmission which identified a Federation spy in the complex. It's Kieren, Rhiannon's betrothed. He killed Hefeyedd and his next target is Rhiannon. We have to warn them, if it isn't already too late. Hurry, Vila!"

Vila stared at Avon, horror dawning on his face. Avon was looking at him, eyes pleading, a tremor of fear shaking his frame.

"I can't," he whispered. "We can't contact them until we come back into position. Another hour at least."

Avon's eyes were desolate. "That will be too late."

As Vila watched, Avon's legs seemed to buckle beneath him and he sank onto the bottom step. Immediately Vila crossed to the stairs and sat down by Avon's side.

"I've killed her," Avon mumbled in a broken voice Vila barely recognised. "If I'd just been honest...she'd be here...he wouldn't... Vila, I sent her back to him."

Vila grasped both Avon's hands in his own, it was as much as he dared, and held them until Avon looked up to meet the thief's warm understanding eyes.

"Avon, she's not dead. Just before we moved out of range I managed to contact Soolin. The signal was weak but she definitely said she'd met up with Rhiannon and her men."

Vila saw a single spark of hope flare and die in Avon's eyes.

"But Soolin doesn't know about Kieren."

"No," Vila admitted. "But she does know there is a spy down there, someone Hefeyedd trusted. She won't trust anyone down there but Rhiannon. She'll do everything she can to keep Rhiannon safe."

Avon gave a reluctant nod and leant into Vila's side gratefully.

"I'm glad you're here, Vila. I know you wanted to stay on Gauda Prime with Blake and I don't blame you. I've brought you nothing but trouble since the day we met. It would have been better for you if we never had."

"Don't say that," Vila said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't ever wish that. Even after everything that's happened I have never regretted my decision for one second. And as for staying with Blake, that was just...I..." Vila faltered, unwilling to voice the thoughts in his head.

"Go on," Avon prompted.

"I didn't want to watch you destroy yourself. Whatever scheme you have going on, it's as if you are deliberately trying to drive us all away. And don't deny it, I've known you too long. I wish I could talk you out of it, whatever it is, but I'm not fooling myself. But just so you know, Avon. It won't work. You won't drive me away. You're stuck with me to the end."

Vila released Avon's hands back onto his lap and stood up, bending over to place a single brief kiss into Avon's untidy black hair.

"Till the bitter end, Avon, and don't you forget it," he said gently and climbed the stairs in the direction of the teleport bay. At the top he paused, looking back at the hunched form of Avon, still sat on the bottom step.

"When we get back in position, you should go and find her. She has the right to know how you really feel. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me."

* * *

Tarrant was not enjoying himself. After making his way down eight hundred yards of pitch black, silent corridor, banging one or other of his limbs with practically every step, he had emerged into a cavern of immense size in which two groups of troops were engaged in a violent battle, lighting up the rough rock faces of walls and ceiling with dazzling flashes of laser fire. On the walls curving away from him on either side he could make out the occasional redundant torch casting a pale flickering light over the cave on the rare instance that the guns fell silent. Blinking, eyes watering as they became accustomed to the light after the utter blackness of the corridor, he had trouble discerning who was Federation and who wasn't.

His confusion didn't last long; a man yelled "Rebel!" and fired three short blasts from his laser pistol directly at Tarrant's head. Tarrant threw himself headlong to the rocky floor, drawing and firing his pistol in retaliation as he hit the ground. With satisfaction he saw his assailant clutch his chest and fall, but the satisfaction turned to dismay as he caught sight of his teleport bracelet lying on the floor beside him, blackened and charred.

"Damn," he muttered, reaching out to grab the remains of the bracelet, hoping against hope that the communicator still worked. Before his free hand could clasp it, a dark shadow fell across him. Tarrant stopped dead and forced his gaze up. The largest man he had ever seen was kneeling next to him, his shoulders hunched over Tarrant protectively. Standing, Tarrant estimated he would be over seven feet tall. The man reached down and grasped Tarrant's arm, pulling him roughly to his knees, then without a word dragged him unceremoniously back inside the tunnel entrance. Tarrant just managed to grab the bracelet on his way past.

"That was a damn fool thing to do," the man scolded, his voice curiously light considering his vast size.

"I'm beginning to realise that," Tarrant replied, rubbing his arm where the man's fingers had left impressions in his flesh. "Thank you."

The man waved his thanks away. "Are you from the _Liberator_?"

"Yes, and another member of the crew is also down here. I need to try to contact her." Tarrant lifted the remains of the bracelet to his lips, but one glance told him it was useless. Shrugging he tossed the charred remains away. "So much for that idea. I hope she is doing better than I am. She took the right fork," he explained to his rescuer.

"She will meet with Rhiannon's unit, this is good," the man commented but did not choose to elaborate. "Are you fit to fight?"

"As I'll ever be. I don't appear to have anything else to do," Tarrant replied. "Del Tarrant," he said holding out his hand. The giant grasped it and crushed Tarrant's fingers together for a second before letting go. Tarrant tried not to grimace in pain.

"I am Nagor Tancress," the man responded, his face breaking into a friendly smile. "It's an honour to meet you."

"Likewise," Tarrant replied. "So, what do we do now?"

"We destroy the Federation scum in that cave," Nagor said stoutly. "Follow me."

Nagor drew his pistol and levelled it, ready to fire. Beckoning to Tarrant, he ducked his head out of the comparative safety of the tunnel and in a single arcing motion swept the area ahead of him with fluorescent green laser blasts. There was the satisfying sound of pained screams as Federation troops were caught by the barrage of blasts, and in the resulting confused exchange of fire across the cave Nagor and Tarrant exited the tunnel and darted behind the rebel barricades on the far right-hand side of the cavern.

"We are trying to stop them reaching the communications complex," Nagor explained in a hushed murmur. "We've counted twenty three of them." Tarrant nodded and raised his head cautiously above the barricade, his eyes carefully scanning the semi-darkness. The Federation barricades were shrouded in a haze of the same thick, clinging smoke he and Soolin had materialized into. He recognised a stalemate when he saw one. In the confines of the cave neither side could advance without risking being cut down within five paces and he became aware of just how much of a risk Nagor had taken in coming to his aid. Even without the call of the mission, Tarrant determined to do everything he could to bring victory for the rebels. Standing up he fired off a round of short, dispersed blasts, just above where he judged the top of the barricades to be. He heard the death scream of a dying soldier.

Smiling, he turned to Nagor. "Twenty-two," he said smugly.

Nagor grinned and also fired over the top. A fresh volley of fire was returned, and the battle increased another notch.

* * *

Soolin and Rhiannons' group reached Alpha Section without incidence. The loading bays appeared deserted, an eerie silence filling the vast hewn caverns. Soolin was instantly suspicious and glanced around speculatively.

"All right, spread out in twos, I want the whole area checked," Garon ordered roughly, looking to Kieren for approval.

The young man nodded. "When you are sure it's clear, barricade and wire the entrances. Report back here in one hour."

Kieren watched the soldiers form into pairs, methodically checking their weapons, even though each of them knew they had been checked only minutes previously. There was something about the silence of the deserted loading bays that was unnerving.

Kieren spoke, his voice loud and strident in the silence. "Rhiannon. Soolin. Secure the control room, then stay there and hold it."

Soolin and Rhiannon separated from the main party, moving cautiously towards the control room from where the lifts and conveyor belts were operated. Both women held their guns in a firing position, their fingers hovering nervously above the trigger.

Soolin's feeling of unease intensified. "This isn't right," she said in a low voice. "This is a key area. To gain overall functional control of the complex, the Federation would need to control the docking and loading bays and the communication centre."

"I agree," Rhiannon said as they mounted the steps to the control room door. Half way up the flight of steps, Soolin leant out over the metal rail running up one side of the stairs until she could see into the control room through one of the observation windows looking out onto the loading bay floor. The room appeared deserted. Somewhat reassured, she gestured to Rhiannon to proceed her. As Rhiannon approached the door and grasped the handle in her free hand, everything fell sickeningly into place in Soolin's mind.

"They're already here! It's a trap!" With sudden terrifying comprehension, she threw herself at Rhiannon's arm, trying to prevent her from opening the door.

It was too late. As the door began to open there was a sharp click. A nano-second later there was a deafening blast as a concussion charge ripped through the bay. Waves of searing air washed towards them from the far end of the cavern like a hurricane, leaving the machinery untouched. In its devastating wake, Soolin saw Rhiannon's men collapse to the floor, hands clutching at their ears, blood pouring from between their fingers. Grabbing Rhiannon's arm she leapt over the stair rail, pulling the stunned young woman after her.

They landed heavily on the smooth stone floor. Winded, Soolin scrambled into the hollow space underneath the stairs, roughly dragging Rhiannon in behind her. She threw herself flat to the ground covering her head and ears with her arms. As understanding dawned, Rhiannon followed her lead.

The concussion wave hit them. The pressure intensified, swelling in her temples and ears until Soolin believed that her head would explode. She screamed in pain, the sound ringing in her ears. She kept her eyes tightly shut, trying to protect them from the wave, and prayed not to die. She could only hope that her instincts had been correct and that they would be protected from the full force of the blast by the stairs, the treads breaking up the deadly moving wall of air.

After what seemed like hours Soolin felt the pressure in her ears ease and return to normal, even though they still rang like a million alarm bells. Gingerly she removed her hands and anxiously checked her palms. No blood. Pushing herself up onto one elbow she looked through the slats of the steps. At the base of the steps lay Garon, his eyes staring sightlessly into space, a spreading pool of blood oozing slowly around his head, his face frozen in an expression of determined resignation. He had known death was coming. Soolin suppressed the sudden wave of anger rising in her chest. Another good man dead at the hands of the Federation.

Suddenly she became aware of the motionless body of Rhiannon sprawled behind her. Rolling over, she ran her eyes over the young woman laying face down, her face hidden by a curtain of flaming hair. It was impossible to tell if she was conscious or not, but the just detectable rise of her shoulders at least confirmed she was alive. Soolin nudged the young woman gently on the shoulder. There was no response. With a sinking heart Soolin carefully turned Rhiannon over onto her back feeling for a pulse at her neck. For a second she felt nothing, then a faint but steady beat pulsed under her fingers. Soolin noticed with horror a thin stream of bright red blood trickling from Rhiannon's ears but even as she watched it slowed and stopped.

Heavy footsteps were approaching the stairs across the concrete. Soolin ducked low, shifting round until she could peer through the treads of the stairs once more. Four Federation soldiers, in full uniform, helmets obscuring their faces, were striding towards the control room. She remained motionless, the breath still in her chest as they approached; one searching glance into the gloom beneath the stairs and there was no chance that she and Rhiannon wouldn't be discovered.

As the soldiers drew level with Garon they stopped, one nudging the body carelessly with his boot. "Rebel scum. He must have been the one who detonated the charge." They laughed callously and, stepping over Garon's lifeless body, climbed the stairs to enter the control room.

Soolin remained motionless for a moment longer, waiting until she heard the heavy clunking sound of the door closing behind them. Ensuring Rhiannon's unconscious form was safely concealed beneath the stairs, she eased her way out and stood up, making sure she couldn't be seen from the control room above. The cavern whirled around her, the concussion charge affecting her balance. She grabbed the banister for support. After one anxious moment the world righted and she was able to look around her. From this position she could count the bodies of almost the entire unit dotted about the cavern. Only Kieren's long rangy frame was not immediately obvious. Was there a chance he had escaped the devastating blast, or was his body out there, hidden behind one of the vast banks of machinery? Either way she didn't have time to find out.

Drawing her gun she crept up the stairs, mindful of the squeak of her rubber-soled boots on the metal treads, until she reached the door, which the soldiers had thoughtfully shut behind them. Putting one ear against the metal she listened carefully.

"Yes, Commander," she could hear a voice say. "The area is secure. The plan worked perfectly. We will remain on guard here until the entire complex is under our control. Our Carillion contact has returned to assist with the fighting in Sector Three. He is unharmed. I understand. Yes, Commander. Unit Six out."

It took all Soolin's willpower not to let out an audible gasp of horror. Their contact? Her mind worked furiously, sorting through the clues. It had to be one of Rhiannon's team. And the only one not accounted for on the floor below them was Kieren. Kieren was the spy. Hefeyedd's murderer. But how could that be? He had grown up here. He was Carillion-born. He was betrothed to Rhiannon. Why would he betray his own people? Then she recalled his insolent gaze in the cave, the shiver of unease that Kieren's look had provoked. She recognised it now, that shadow behind his eyes, now that it was too late. It had been pure evil. She had to warn Rhiannon's people. They trusted Kieren and it would never occur to them that he could be the traitor.

Reaching to grasp the door handle with her left hand, brandishing her gun in her right, she slowly turned the handle, praying that the lock wouldn't squeak. Mercifully it didn't. Cautiously she pushed the door open an inch. Through the small gap she could see three of the four men. They appeared relaxed, their helmets tossed carelessly onto a low bench running along the back opposite wall. They hadn't noticed her presence yet, and she wasn't going to give them time. Kicking the door wide open with a resounding bang she fired rapidly into the room.

The first three shots, at known targets, couldn't fail to hit their mark. The three fell to the ground before they could even draw their weapons. The fourth man, safely hidden behind the metal door, slipped his gun from it's holster and waited for Soolin to advance into the room. Soolin fired four shots through the metal door, confident that it was not as sturdy as it appeared. The laser blasts sliced through the thin metal sheet and slammed into the chest of the guard. With a faint cry he toppled forward, the door shaking as he slumped against it. Stepping aside she allowed the door to close. The man fell to the floor face down, a slow pool of blood gathering beneath the body. She did not bother to turn him over.

Looking about the control room she made a quick decision. There could be more soldiers in the vicinity. The control room wasn't much but at least it gave her the advantage of the high ground if the Federation troops decided to try and regain control. Rhiannon wasn't safe down there, she decided. Leaving the Federation soldiers where they lay, she returned to Rhiannon and half-carried, half-dragged the still-unconscious woman into the control room. Sweeping the soldiers' helmets to the floor with an impatient hand, she gently she set Rhiannon down on the padded bench.

She closed the door to the control room. Flimsy as it was, it would still provide a measure of protection if she could find some way to secure it. There was a lock but she knew just by looking at it that it would barely survive a single laser blast. She needed something heavy to hold the door in position. She looked around the room desperately. The banks of consoles were heavy enough, but there was no way she'd be able to move them alone, even if they could be detached from the walls. All the other furniture consisted of chairs which were no use whatsoever. Finally her eyes fell on the body of the heavy-set guard slumped by the door. Perfect. Grabbing his arms, she pulled him in front of the door leaving a smeary trail of scarlet in his wake. Then she dragged each of the other three bodies to the door, piling them on top of the first man until she had produced a crude and bloody barricade.

Soolin wiped her bloodied hands on the uniform of the final soldier and turned to the bank of instruments and controls positioned in front of the window. From here she had an almost full view of the loading dock below. If the Federation came, she would see them coming. Lowering her eyes to the myriad of buttons and displays, she set to work trying to find a way to contact the _Liberator_ and Tarrant and warn them of Kieren's treachery.

* * *

Tarrant's battle was still far from over. An hour had passed since Nagor had rescued him and no progress had been made by either side. Short volleys of fire had been exchanged, with no loss on either side. Now both sides sat quietly in the dim cave, waiting for someone else to make the next move. The power packs on the rebel guns were beginning to run low and for the first time it seemed that defeat was inevitable.

"It's hopeless," Nagor said quietly so only Tarrant who sat by his side could hear him. Neither man had fired a shot in twenty minutes. "They have fresh power packs; they can keep going for days. We'll be lucky if we manage another fifteen minutes. We have to do something."

Tarrant thought for a minute. "When you saved me, we got back here under a cover of fire. What if we did that again but this time skirt back to the tunnel and then behind the Federation barricade. Take them out from behind, or at least distract them enough to rush them from the front."

"It might just work, but I should do it," Nagor stated. "It is too dangerous for you. This is not your fight."

"No," the young pilot protested. "Listen, Nagor, it has to be me. You are too recognisable as a rebel, and, if I might say, a little too large - no offence intended. Only one Federation officer saw me when I entered and he's dead. I will be able to do more before I am recognised."

Nagor shook his head. "You are a good friend, Del Tarrant," he said warmly, "but I cannot allow you to do this."

Tarrant smiled and put a hand on Nagor's shoulder. In the short time he had known him, he had come to respect and like Nagor. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" he said softly. Nagor held his gaze with a level smile. "I see. It's been an honour. Are you ready to go?" The large man nodded.

Tarrant and Nagor crawled back along the barricade towards the tunnel wall, informing each man they met of the plan. On reaching the edge closest to the tunnel, Tarrant raised his hand in signal and there was an immediate volley of firing. As the hail of rebel laser bolts ripped across the no-man's land in the centre of the cavern, Tarrant darted out from behind the barricade before Nagor could react and ran along the wall until he reached the tunnel. There was a two second pause in the firing and he turned to give Nagor, who stood watching him helplessly, an apologetic smile. As laser bolts once more filled the air, he took a deep breath and dashed out towards the Federation lines.

Panting, he dropped behind the outermost barricade and slowly edged his way inwards undetected. Two Federation guards nodded tersely at him as he passed and with a shock he realised that he was actually getting away with it. They thought he was Federation. Surreptitiously he returned his gun to its holster and picked up a Federation issue laser pistol which lay beside a dead Federation guard. Keeping his head down he moved towards the centre of the barricade, keeping close to the wall. He could count just eleven remaining troops, even fewer than they had imagined; the battle would be easier to win. Slowly raising his pistol, he fired in a wide arc, spraying the Federation troops with lethal laser bolts. He saw nine men, including the two who had let him pass, fall in that first round.

At the same instant Tarrant felt a sharp knifing pain in his back and chest. In amazement he glanced down to see a blackened charred hole in his tunic. A second round hit him low in the back, sending a fine spray of dark blood from his abdomen as the laser blast tore through him. But this time there was no pain. He was numb. He watched in disbelief as blood poured down his front, falling to the floor like some macabre waterfall. His fingers no longer seemed able to grip his gun and it fell from his grasp, clattering on the rock as it tumbled to the ground.

The shots had come from behind. But from who? All the Federation had been in front of him; he had been sure. At least he thought they had. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think and the sounds of the fighting had grown muffled. With shock he felt his knees buckle and the world grow dim. After a long moment he realised that he was no longer standing but laying on his back, staring into the darkness of the ceiling above him. A thin, blond man in Carillion dress was towering over him, pale blue eyes glinting malevolently in the flickering light, a laser aimed at his head.

"So long, Tarrant," the young man spat, his mouth curving in a satisfied smile. "Servalan will pay me well for this."

He saw the man's hand convulse and there was a final, white-hot, searing star of light.


	11. Edge Of Darkness

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: More apologies for the longer than expected time to post this chapter. Work managed to throw a couple of weeks of unbelievable stress and a ridiculous deadline at me which meant in one week I managed to work an extra three days worth of overtime.**

**Thanks to Orion Lyonesse for all her hard work finding my flaws, and my apologies for sitting on her comments for almost a week before I could even open the file to look at them.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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* * *

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_Edge of Darkness_

Vila brought his fist down on the console, violently aggravating the already painful bruise, a legacy of his previous display of temper. The _Liberator_ had been back in range of the complex for nearly twenty minutes and there still had been no word from either Soolin or Tarrant. Several times he had tried to contact them without success, his voice becoming more anxious and frantic on each attempt. Muttering half-remembered prayers to long-forgotten gods under his breath, he nervously fiddled with the settings once more, but all he received was the same unchanging hiss of static.

The knot of fear which had formed in his stomach at Avon's revelation about Kieren had amplified with every passing minute, so that now every nerve in his body was strung taut, making every movement, every breath, an effort.

The fear was evident in his voice as he snapped, "Orac, why the hell am I only picking up static? We're in range now, aren't we? We should be able to contact them."

"GIVEN THE LAST KNOWN POSITION, BOTH COMMUNICATORS ARE WITHIN THE SPECIFIED RANGE FOR TRANSMISSION," Orac confirmed in surprisingly measured tones. "HOWEVER, SENSORS CONTINUE TO REGISTER ELEVATED LEVELS OF IONIC PARTICLES IN THE LOWER ATMOSPHERE OF THE PLANET, RESULTING FROM HIGH LEVELS OF LASER FIRE. SENSORS ALSO DETECT SEVERE TRAUMA IN THE ROCK FORMATIONS ABOVE AND AROUND THE COMPLEX, SUGGESTING THE MULTIPLE USE OF CONCUSSION CHARGES. THIS HAS FURTHER DISRUPTED TRANSMISSIONS FROM THE PLANET SURFACE. I WILL ENDEAVOUR TO RESTORE CONTACT."

Vila drummed his fingers on the console in a nervous gesture. He had seen concussion charges explode before, from a safe distance of course, and he had seen what they did to people who were too close. In a confined space the effects would be devastating. He was glad that Avon hadn't heard Orac's situation report. He had stalked from the flight deck with terse instructions not to disturb him until Vila had news from the planet, one way or the other. Vila understood his suppressed anger. The one thing Avon feared above all else was not being in complete control and the events on Carillion were totally out of his reach. For a few moments on the flight deck Vila had thought that Avon would order him to bring the _Liberator_ out of orbit and the Federation be damned, but Avon had merely clenched his fists in mute frustration and turned his back to hide the despair that he knew radiated from his dark eyes. He was hanging on by the merest thread, and the knowledge that concussion charges had been detonated and Soolin and Tarrant had not reported in with news of Rhiannon might be just enough to sever what tenuous hold on his sanity. Vila swallowed hard to force down the bolus of sick fear that rose in his throat. If Avon snapped now the Universe would burn before his wrath was spent. The thief knew he needed to contact Tarrant and Soolin now; it would only be a matter of time before Avon realised that they were overdue. With trembling fingers he tried to contact Carillion once more.

"Have you had any contact with Soolin or Tarrant?"

Dayna emerged from the corridor and descended the steps to join Vila at his console.

"We should have heard from them by now, shouldn't we? We've been out of the planet's shadow for a while." Her voice was brisk, but Vila could hear the underlying tremor of worry.

For a moment Vila considered lying - after all, what was the point of them both worrying to death? – but he could see from the fixed set to Dayna's features that she'd already read the answer in his face. He gave a tiny shake of his head.

"No. I can't raise Tarrant or Soolin, or anyone on Carillion, for that matter. All I'm getting is static. Orac says it's a result of ionic particles in the lower atmosphere caused by the laser fire. He's also detected concussion charge detonations..." His voice trailed away as he saw Dayna blanch.

"Dear God," Dayna breathed, immediately grasping the full import of Vila's words. "In such a confined space..." She couldn't continue, her eyes wide in horror.

"We don't know anything for definite. They might have found somewhere safe to ride out the blasts." Vila tried to look reassuring but he knew it was a poor attempt.

"Have you told Avon?" Dayna asked slowly.

"No, like I said, we don't know anything for definite. What I do know is if I do tell Avon he's liable to do something rash and we'll all end up dead. He asked not to be disturbed until we knew what was happening down on Carillion, and for once I'm going to follow orders." Vila's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "Of course I'm under no allusions, he's going to kill me whatever happens."

Dayna put a hand on Vila's shoulder and squeezed.

"You keep trying. I'll head back to the teleport. If they are OK, they may need a quick get away."

Vila nodded but didn't reply. With a final reassuring pat on his shoulder Dayna slowly climbed the stairs and headed back to her post.

* * *

Avon had locked himself in the medical bay. He couldn't face Dayna's quiet censure or Vila's pitying, knowing eyes. And the other alternative? Well, that was too dangerous to contemplate. Thoughts clamoured in his head, baying for attention, each bringing the barely repressed panic in his chest to the surface. Each event of his life which had brought him to this point crowded in around him; faces familiar and half-forgotten flashed before his eyes. Every person he had loved and lost. Every enemy he'd killed, every friend he'd betrayed. He could see it now, his slow descent into hell, as though he were an outsider viewing his life as nothing more than an interesting vidcast. And he knew when it started, the day the world had ceased to mean anything any more. And it had nothing to do with his absent father or fractured childhood. Those events had made him the man he was, but not the madman he had become. No, all of that came from a single day. The day his world had been shattered by the actions of one woman, one woman who sat less than a hundred yards away. She had mercilessly taken the core of his world and ripped it apart, laughing as she watched the only thing of importance to him being taken away. Not that he had let her see it on his face. With a strength he didn't know he possessed, he had managed to keep his features schooled in that implacable mask of indifference. But she'd known, and though they had never spoken of it again there was, every time they met, something behind her eyes which told him that, even now, she was enjoying her victory.

Until now he had drawn comfort from the knowledge that the feelings of those around him were unimportant. His companions either knew the source of his madness, or kept themselves distant, recognising the danger, so that his barbs and wounding words could not penetrate. But now there was Rhiannon, slipping past his defences, finding that single spark of life that still burned in him and fanning it to a tentative flame once more. Awakening new feelings, as well as old feelings and hurts barely buried. And, unused to these sensations after so long alone, he had lashed out at her, wounded her, and probably sent her to her death at the hands of a common traitor while his own hands were once again red with the blood of an innocent.

The guilt he carried would be all consuming, but not for long. The end was coming. Soon, he would punish the instigator of all his troubles and in doing so his damnation would be complete.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted by a hail from the ship's communicator.

"Avon." Vila's voice was a shaking whisper. "You better come to the teleport. Now!"

Avon felt the knot of fear in his chest solidify, choking him. In his mind's eye he fixed on Servalan's cruel face, hoping that the burning hate would carry him through what was to come, and then, wiping his palms across his face, as though he were erasing any sign of emotion harboured there, he released the door and slowly entered the corridor beyond.

* * *

Soolin had given up battling the transmitter. After the first few abortive attempts it became clear that interference from the weapons fire was blocking any forms of transmission, even those from the more powerful transmitters on the planet. The bracelets would be completely useless, she thought resignedly. The complex was now eerily silent; even the distant sound of firing had faded to nothing. The battle was over, although who had won and who had lost was anyone's guess. Certainly here in the loading bays the Federation had scored a decisive victory. And if they'd rigged compression charges throughout the complex... Soolin shuddered at the thought. The only point in her favour was that in the last half hour since she had despatched the Federation soldiers to oblivion no back-up troops had arrived. That either meant the Federation thought the key area was secure, in which case she could expect a second detail of more senior officers to arrive any minute, or, despite the use of extreme measures, the Federation soldiers had been driven back by the more numerous, highly motivated rebels. Of one thing she was absolutely certain: hiding out in the control room was not going to achieve anything. She needed to take a look into the corridors beyond the loading bays.

After swiftly checking Rhiannon's pulse, which thankfully was now strong and steady, and ensuring that the young woman was comfortable, Soolin shouldered the pile of bodies barricading the door around a few inches until there was just enough space to open the door and squeeze through. Once clear she closed the door; the pile of bodies, whilst not stopping anyone opening the door, would at least give them pause. Eyes alert and gun drawn Soolin cautiously made her way across the open expanse of the bay, looking for any movement in the shadows thrown by the banks of machinery. As she reached the open doorway she could see the corridor beyond was in complete darkness. She flattened her back to the wall and edged round into the corridor. There should be a torch close to the doorway, she realised, half-remembering passing the flickering flame as the team had arrived. Transferring her gun to her other hand she felt around the rock next to the door with her free hand, giving a sigh of relief as her hand closed around the rough wood of the torch stem. She lifted it from its holder and, retreating back into the loading bay, fired a single low level pulse from her gun at the blackened wood. The torch flared into life, casting a warm glow in a circle at her feet. If she went into the corridor now she would be a ridiculously easy target and every instinct told her that what she was about to do was possibly the stupidest thing she'd ever done. But she didn't see she had a choice. She had to know what was going on in the complex.

Holding the torch out ahead of her at an angle so that the light did not fall directly onto her body, she edged out into the corridor, keeping her back angled to the wall. She moved slowly, one step at a time, her eyes flitting around her at the darkness beyond the pool of light. Every step took her further from the relative safety of the loading bay and the control room, increasing her anxiety another notch. How far would she have to go before she found someone, friend or foe? The thought of being lost in the darkness, alone, was a childhood fear and her breath quickened as the safe retreat of the loading bay entrance disappeared from view.

Even as the sound of her heartbeat began to thrum in her ears, the torchlight picked out the form of a body sprawled across the floor, then more bodies. They were all dead. That much was obvious from the awkward position of their limbs, and, pooling about their ears, soaking into the sandy covering of the floor, was the tell tale trickle of blood. So her instincts had been right; the concussion charge in the loading bay had been only the first, triggering others to detonate simultaneously around the complex. The Federation were very thorough, she thought sourly, and clever. Concussion charges would decimate the rebel forces while leaving the structure of the complex relatively untouched, and the first charge in the loading bay would serve as a warning to the Federation troops to take cover before the secondary charges ripped through the complex. Kieren had clearly known of the Federations intentions; he had made sure that both she and Rhiannon were front and centre when the first charge detonated. Maybe he had even planned the entire operation. It would certainly take intimate knowledge of the complex structure to place the charges in the exact position to get the maximum effect. For the second time that day the rebels wouldn't have known what hit them.

Another two steps revealed a second set of bodies, also rebel, and after that new bodies seemed to appear with every step. Finally, she found one that was alive, his pulse thready but strengthening with every beat. Like Rhiannon he was unconscious. The thought that there were survivors spurred her on and she quickened her pace, carefully checking each body as it came within her circle of light. By the time she reckoned she had gone two hundred yards down the curving corridor she had found almost thirty rebels, two thirds of whom were injured and unconscious but alive. Maybe the concussion charges hadn't been placed as optimally as she had first thought. It looked like the rough curving walls of the rock hewn corridors had partially broken up the deadly wave in the same way as the metal steps had in the loading bay.

A soft noise from the direction of the loading bay sent her spinning round, peering into the darkness. She lifted the torch high, uncaring of the target she made. There was a suggestion of movement in the darkness and Soolin levelled her gun, her hand steady despite her hammering heartbeat.

"Step forward into the light," she ordered tersely, "and keep your hands where I can see them."

A tall, bulky man stepped forward into the circle of light, his hands raised, palms turned outwards.

"I'm not Federation," he said calmly.

"Easy to say," Soolin shot back, her aim unwavering. "Difficult to prove."

"As you say, difficult to prove. My name is Nagor. I do not recognise you. Are you from the _Liberator_?" His tone was unthreatening, at once both curious and gentle.

Soolin could see very little of his face, blackened as it was with blood and soot, but there was dark sorrow in his green eyes which glinted like emerald fire in the torchlight. It was the sorrow of a man who had seen too many of his friends die, an emotion that would never be found in the eyes of a Federation soldier or spy. Slowly she lowered her gun, although she kept it in her hand, ready to raise at the slightest provocation.

"Soolin," she said, nodding. "I was beginning to think I was the last person left standing. Where did you come from?"

Nagor sighed and smiled grimly. "Gamma section. About a quarter mile back there. My team had just killed the last of the Federation there when the concussion charge went off at the entrance to the cave. Luckily we were shielded by the barricades we'd set up to defend the communications installation. No-one was lost and we have only two injured."

"You were lucky," Soolin said wearily. "In our party only myself and Rhiannon survived. Fortunately we were also shielded from the worst of it. Rhiannon is injured; it doesn't look too serious, although she was unconscious when I left her. I should head back; I shouldn't really have left her alone, not with Kieren still out there."

Nagor frowned. "Kieren?" Confusion was evident in his startled question.

Soolin grimaced. "Kieren's the traitor. I heard some Federation troops talking. Kieren is the one who killed King Hefyedd and betrayed you to the Federation. He was with us in the loading bay but he'd clearly scarpered by the time the charge detonated. I don't know where he is now but he's dangerous. Apart from the two of us, none of the Rebels have a clue he's working against them."

The shock on Nagor's face quickly transformed into one of disgust. Soolin saw his hands clench into fists but when he spoke there was no sign of anger.

"We need to warn the survivors and try to find out what happened. Given the number of dead Federation troops I saw on the way here, none of whom were victims of the concussion charges, it looks like the battle was practically over by the time the charges detonated. The Federation had failed to secure the Communications complex and without that they had no way to call for reinforcements."

"Certainly no one came to back up the troops I killed in the loading bay," Soolin said, considering. "I think they used the concussion charges because they knew they didn't have enough troops on the ground to secure the complex, even with Kieren's assistance to get them inside. They were counting on the concussion charges taking out most of us, but they miscalculated. They left it too late and by the time the charges blew most of them were already dead."

"Even if we're right, there'll be pockets of Federation hiding out all over the complex, and let's not forget that bastard traitor..." Nagor scowled. "We need to regroup. I found sixteen men unconscious but alive on my way here; another five were conscious. I've sent them to help my men round up the survivors. I'll have them bring the uninjured to the loading bay to help."

Soolin nodded decisively. "Good, I'll get back there and see how Rhiannon is doing."

She took a step towards the loading bay and then paused. "Back there, did you happen to come across a man called Tarrant, from the _Liberator_ like me? We got separated." The pity in Nagor's eyes told her all she needed to know and she crumpled against the wall of corridor, the torch falling limply to the ground. "What happened?" she breathed, the words barely audible.

"We were in Gamma section. It's a large cave that forms the main entrance to the communications complex. The Federation had us in a stalemate. We could not repel them and they could not advance." Nagor's voice became more subdued. "We were running out of power for the lasers and we were close to losing. Then one of the men in my group manoeuvred his way round to the Federation-held side of the cave. He was unknown to them, and to us. He told me his name was Tarrant and that he came from the _Liberator_."

Soolin felt a sick feeling rise in her throat. She knew what Nagor was going to say but she didn't want to believe it. She instinctively held her hand out imploring Nagor to stop but he continued.

"He positioned himself at the centre of the Federation lines and began to fire. He took down all but two of the Federation before they could respond. The remaining two fired at him, breaking cover and giving me the opportunity to finish them off. But there was another man, one we didn't know about, hiding somewhere. He shot Tarrant in the back twice from the darkness before any of us could even pinpoint his location. Then he stood over Tarrant as he fell and fired on him at close range. He was dead before I could reach him. Tarrant gave his life for our cause and he will not be forgotten. I will grieve for him as a friend."

A soft moan of pain escaped Soolin's lips and Nagor laid a hand on her shoulder in mute comfort.

"What happened to the man? The one who shot him." Soolin rasped, her voice hoarse with pain.

"He escaped into the darkness. I would have followed him but seconds later the concussion charges detonated.

"So he's alive." Her voice was now harsh.

"I don't know," Nagor faltered, shaken by the sudden vehemence in her tone. "Maybe, if he escaped the concussion charge."

"I have to find him." Soolin grasped the torch and rose to her feet, weighing the gun in her hand.

"How? I don't know who it was, it could have been anyone," Nagor argued.

"I'll know." Soolin said, determinedly taking a step forward.

Nagor placed a restraining hand on her arm and the eyes she turned on him were chips of blue ice filled with deadly intent.

"Don't get in my way," she threatened.

The communicator on her wrist suddenly buzzed into life blasting Vila's anxious voice into the terse silence of the corridor. "Soolin, this is Vila. Can you hear me?" At the sound of Vila's voice, Soolin seemed to deflate, the cold fire in her eyes extinguished in an instant.

"I hear you Vila," she said tiredly. "Where were you?"

"Fighting static. Are you all right?"

She looked at the bracelet on her wrist for a long minute.

"Soolin?" Vila prompted, his voice filled with barely suppressed fear.

"I am," Soolin gulped finally, fighting back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.

"Is it over? Have you found Tarrant?" Vila asked. There was silence. "Soolin, talk to me?" he urged.

Soolin's voice was almost a whisper. "Yes. It's over. Vila, Tarrant's dead."

The communicator remained silent for some time. Soolin didn't push him to answer.

"Can you come up?" Vila said finally. "I don't want to tell Avon and Dayna alone."

Soolin looked up at Nagor. "Can you handle things down here for a while? I have to do this. Rhiannon is in the control room."

Nagor nodded understandingly. "Go." There was a pause, as though Nagor was deciding whether or not to continue. Finally he said slowly, "Soolin, I don't know who killed Tarrant but I do know he took great pleasure in ending Tarrant's life. Be careful."

Soolin took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry.

"Bring me up, Vila."

* * *

"Dayna." Vila's voice was trembling as he activated the intercom, ensuring that only the teleport bay was receiving him. "Teleport Soolin up."

Hearing Vila's tone, Dayna's sense that something was very wrong increased tenfold. "What about Tarrant?" she asked.

"Just do it, Dayna," Vila snapped. "Now!" Switching off the intercom he continued more calmly, "Orac, where is Avon?"

"KERR AVON IS CURRENTLY LOCATED IN THE MEDICAL UNIT," Orac replied, his usually sarcastic tones and insolent replies replaced with respect and even a measure of sadness. Any other day Vila would have raised his eyebrows in surprise. Today he merely brushed his hand through his untidy brown hair in abstraction before switching the intercom over to the medical unit and summoning Avon to the teleport.

* * *

By the time Avon reached the teleport, the knot of fear had amplified, becoming bands of steel around his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He had heard that tone in Vila's voice only a few times before, and each time it had been in response to something earth-shattering and terrible. On the short walk from the medical bay to the teleport his fevered mind had imagined every terrible scenario, each one worse than the last. Dead eyes stared up at him from blood splattered faces. Soolin. Tarrant. Rhiannon. Which one had he killed by sending them down to the planet below?

He knew the answer the moment he rounded the corner into the teleport control room. Vila sat with his arm around Dayna, their heads bowed in grief, silent tears cascading down Dayna's cheeks. Soolin stood against the wall holding onto the console for dear life as if it were the only thing supporting her. Hearing him enter, Vila raised his head, turning eyes darkened in pain to meet Avon's.

"What happened?" Avon said sharply. He swallowed hard trying to force down the almost physical knot of guilt which had risen in his throat at the knowledge that, despite his shock and anger, his main feeling was one of relief. This was grief for one of their own, not a virtual stranger such as Rhiannon. _What kind of man did that make him?_ He swallowed again. "What the hell happened down there?"

Dayna looked up at his dispassionate face. Maybe she could see the guilty relief in his eyes because she gave a sudden choking sob, tore herself away from Vila's comforting arm and bolted towards her cabin. Vila rose to follow her, but Avon motioned for him to stay. Sinking back into his seat Vila now studiously avoided Avon's dark and tortured eyes, his own expression grim and accusatory. Turning his back on Vila, Avon directed his attention to Soolin, hoping that she at least would be blind to his emotions.

He needn't have worried. She didn't even look in his direction as she spoke.

"Tarrant's dead," she said unnecessarily, her voice distant, her gaze focused somewhere in space. Her face was pale and she was shaking but she made no attempt to sit down. "He took on eleven Federation alone, killed nine outright and set up the other two for the rebels to take out. In the end it was some cowardly bastard hiding in the debris that shot him down. He shot him in the back, Avon. He shot him in the fucking back!" Her final words were almost a cry. Her head turned, eyes focused on Avon for the first time, eyes that blazed again with icy fire. "It was Kieren, Avon. I know it. The man who was fighting alongside Tarrant, the man who saw him die, said his killer took pleasure in finishing him off. It was personal. The Federation couldn't care less who they kill; the only one who did is dead..." Intent on the words spilling from her lips Soolin missed the fleeting uncomfortable look that crossed Avon's features. "...so it had to be him. He's the only one who would gain something by killing one of us."

Avon nodded slowly, the last vestiges of his fragile control crumbling at Soolin's words. He hadn't particularly liked Tarrant. Foolish, headstrong, impulsive, always trying to be the hero. In fact, Avon now realised, he'd been very like the young Kerr Avon before the hate and betrayal had tainted him. And now he was dead. At the hands of some snivelling little weasel of a traitor who had no doubt only killed Tarrant in order to impress his paymasters...or more specifically his paymistress. Servalan. Tarrant's death was yet another crime to lay at her feet. No matter that it was Kieren who pulled the trigger; this was all her. An evil cancer, spreading through his life, destroying everyone and anyone he had ever cared about. Kieren would pay for his treachery, but his punishment would be swift, brutal, final. She would suffer. There would be nothing hurried about his vengeance.

"Where is he?" Avon asked quietly, his eyes clear and calculating and burning with dark fire.

"Er...Gamma section. The cave that forms the antechamber to the communications complex," Soolin stammered, alarmed by the cold calm of his voice. She needed to tell him about Rhiannon, she thought abstractly; the question was how.

While she debated the matter, Avon strode over to the rack containing teleport bracelets and fastened one to his arm. Vila immediately got his feet and scurried over, grabbing a bracelet.

"I'm coming with you," he said hurriedly.

Avon paused and shook his head.

"No. I'm going alone. Stay here and man the teleport."

"Avon," Vila protested. "What are you going to do?" The fear in his voice was plain.

Avon turned to face him, taking in his pinched white features, and his face softened imperceptibly.

"I'm going to make it right," he murmured in a voice low enough for only Vila to hear. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

"I don't believe you," Vila muttered back, shaking his head. "Just…just be careful."

Avon's lips quirked in a sudden half-smile, then his face turned grim once more.

"Put me down, Vila."

Vila slipped round behind the console and quickly calculated the coordinates, plotting them into the controls. With a curt nod Vila operated the teleport, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Avon as he began to dematerialise.

"Avon, there is something else," Avon heard Soolin say faintly. "Rhiannon is..." Whatever else she said was lost in the hiss of the teleport.


	12. Walls of Jericho

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: My apologies for the length of time between each chapter are getting a little old. Please accept I would get them up here quicker if it were left entirely up to me.**

**Thanks to Orion Lyonesse for beta-ing this chapter overnight and for selling me some of her fabulous jewellery, even if the Royal Mail are doing their best to keep it from me.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Thanks for reading...**

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* * *

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_Walls of Jericho_

As the green haze began to clear from his vision, Avon felt his legs buckle beneath him and he found himself kneeling on the uneven, sandy floor of the cavern. In a single swift movement he drew his gun and levelled it at chest height, more by instinct than from conscious thought. His mind was churning, all purpose forgotten. As he had de-materialised Soolin had mentioned Rhiannon. What had she been about to tell him? That Rhiannon was dead too? He felt a sharp constriction in his chest, as though an iron band had closed about him, and suddenly he found himself gasping for breath. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his breathing, forcing the panic which had flooded through him to retreat to a dull, threatening wave. What the hell was wrong with him? She was just some woman, rationalised the cool logical voice of his intellect, practically a stranger, whose existence he had known about for little more than a day. But if that was the case, clamoured the insidious whine of fear, why would the mere thought of her death threaten to rip his soul from his very core? He swallowed, closing his mind to the voices drumming in his head, and became aware of Vila trying to contact him on the communicator.

"Avon? Avon?" The tinny voice was urgent and fearful.

"Down and safe," Avon said automatically, although he had no idea whether it was true or not. No one had killed him yet, he reasoned.

Avon realised he was behaving irrationally, his instinct for self-preservation dimmed by the recent events. If he didn't pull himself out of this, he would be dead anyway. Kieren was down here somewhere, looking for more glory in the eyes of his mistress. Killing Kerr Avon would bring glory indeed, he conceded. He needed to focus, but there was one thing he had to know.

Hesitantly he heard himself ask, "Vila, what was Soolin about to say about Rhiannon?"

Soolin's hesitant tones answered in place of Vila's. "She was injured by the concussion charge in the loading bay."

"How badly?"

"I don't know," Soolin replied apologetically. "She was unconscious. She hadn't come round when I had to leave. I left a man named Nagor looking after her. He was the man who'd been with Tarrant."

Avon deliberated for a moment and then said, trying to be as offhand as possible, "Soolin, on my signal, teleport me to the loading bay. I promised her father I'd look after her."

"Will do," Vila said, replacing Soolin once more. "Avon, are you sure you don't want anyone down there with you? Someone to watch your back?"

"No!" replied Avon, his voice suddenly impatient. "Just keep alert, Vila. I want to know if anything even grazes the long range scanners."

"What about Tarrant?" Soolin butted in, her question obliterating Vila's quiet assurance.

"What about him?" Avon snapped harshly. "He's dead. He knew the risks. We have other things to worry about now. Avon out!" The communicator fell abruptly silent, the crackle of static cut off mid-hiss. Avon looked at the bracelet for a moment and then deliberately switched it off.

* * *

On the _Liberator_ Soolin snatched her finger from the transmission button, breaking contact, and sat down angrily next to Vila.

"The bastard," she said hoarsely, tears of anger and grief rolling down her cheeks. "If he has a heart, it must be made of solid ice. He might be able to dismiss Tarrant like that, but I can't."

"It's not like that," Vila said hotly, feeling the need to defend Avon's words. "He's not dismissing Tarrant's death but he knows we can't risk this mission because of it. Tarrant knew the risks he took every time he left the ship. We all do. He believed in the cause, in the mission. That's why he did what he did. He would do exactly what Avon is doing. You know that too."

"I know that. But Avon doesn't even acknowledge his actions. Doesn't he feel anything at all?" It was obviously a rhetorical question. Without waiting for an answer Soolin got to her feet and continued, "I'm going to look after Dayna. She was closer to Tarrant than any of us." Turning she walked out of the teleport bay in the direction of Dayna's cabin.

Vila watched her leave, his protestations dying on his lips. With a deep sigh he leaned back, laying his head on the back of the chair and closing his eyes. Avon cared. He knew that. He had seen the relief in Avon's eyes at the knowledge that it wasn't Rhiannon who had fallen, but he had seen the anger too, the spark of vengeance flaring in those dark orbs. He had no doubt that Avon would extract bloody retribution on the man who had ended Tarrant's life. And then what? Vila honestly didn't know. All he knew was that he was tired, not just physically but emotionally as well. In the past four years his life had careered from one crisis to another and at every turn he had lost friends and those he loved. Now he had lost another. And it was only a matter of time before his one reason for staying was lost to him too. He had no illusions, whatever Avon felt for him, they were feelings he couldn't act on. With Rhiannon Avon had a chance, if he had the sense and the guts to take it. Not that he could bear to stay and witness it.

He wanted out, he wanted rest, and he wanted peace. When this was over, if he was still alive, he would bow out gracefully, run far away and try to start again. He was still a relatively young man; he still had time to find a life without Avon. Maybe he could find Homeworld and Kerril and try to have a normal relationship. He gave a bitter laugh at the image conjured in his mind. Who was he kidding? If he left he would be alone. Anything else was just a fantasy. All he could do now was keep Avon alive long enough to give him a chance with Rhiannon.

* * *

Avon crouched low to the ground, for the first time looking around him. Through the dispersing greasy smoke he could discern the outlines of bodies lying on the floor, limbs splayed in unnatural positions, advertising their lifelessness. There was no sound. Apart from him and the multitude of corpses, the cave was deserted. Keeping his body low Avon moved slowly from body to body, the bloodied features of each ruined face starkly outlined in the flickering torchlight. Several times he had to turn the bodies over and in more than one case there were no features to identify. Avon couldn't tell which corpse was rebel and which was Federation; they all looked the same: dead. Just as he began to think that he would have to look at every body, he spotted the inky blue of Tarrant's tunic several feet away. Slowly, almost fearfully, he approached Tarrant's body and knelt down beside it. Thankfully, Avon saw that the young man's face was intact, his pale blue eyes staring sightlessly from the sculptured angles of his handsome face. A fine coating of rock dust greyed his dark brown hair and the skin of his cheeks and forehead. Avon's eyes slid down Tarrant's frame until he saw the large hole ripped in the front of the tunic, the result of a laser blast at close range. Avon raised his free hand and, with two fingers which betrayed the faintest of tremors, lowered Tarrant's eyelids over his unseeing eyes. The skin beneath his fingers was still warm.

"I'm sorry, Tarrant," he finally said in a low voice. "I got you killed. But I swear I will find the bastard that did this and he will bleed."

Shrugging off his black jacket, Avon carefully laid it over Tarrant's face, gently smoothing the fabric with one hand.

"Sleep well, Tarrant. Job well done."

Avon stood and stepped back from Tarrant's body. He bowed his head for a moment, a mark of respect for his fallen comrade, and then switched on his communicator. In clipped tones he hailed Vila and ordered him to teleport him to the loading bay. There was a moment's delay before he dematerialised in a green haze, leaving Tarrant as he had found him, alone.

* * *

The scene that greeted Avon in the loading bay was somewhat different. The bodies which Soolin had observed scattered across the grey concrete floor were now lined up neatly in a row against one wall, eyes closed, arms crossed over their chests, ready for identification. Avon noted that most of the bodies appeared uninjured, the only sign of the deadly effects of the compression wave a small trickle of dried blood around the ears. At the end of the row however there were three uniformed Federation guards whose demise had clearly come from a powerful laser blast at close range to the chest. Soolin's work, Avon thought with something akin to fatherly pride. Scanning along the line of bodies he saw with relief that Rhiannon was not amongst them. Not that he would really expect it to be. As the daughter of the King it was unlikely she'd be laid out with the common people. Even so, Avon felt the knot of tension in his chest ease a fraction. Besides, Soolin had said she was unconscious, not dead. With another appraising glance along the line of dead, Avon returned his gun to his belt. Whoever had laid these bodies out respected human life. It was not the Federations' style.

Across the bay Avon spotted the steep narrow metal steps which led up to the control room. If Rhiannon were still here, surely that is where she would be. And even if she had been moved, it was the most likely place to find an ally that knew of her location. He quickly moved towards them, his anxiety and anticipation making him careless. He had not covered five yards before he came to abrupt halt. His path was blocked by a large stern faced man, who had appeared suddenly in the doorway at the top of the stairs, and was levelling a large mining laser directly at his head. Avon stiffened angrily. Fool, he berated himself. He had walked straight into a trap.

"Identify yourself!" the man called sharply.

Avon surreptitiously began to ease his gun from his belt, furious that he had dropped his guard, hoping that the long shadows cast over him by the machinery would mask his movements. They didn't. The man let off a round of laser fire. A red beam of light skimmed past his head. Avon felt a wash of heat brush past him and there was the suddenly acrid stench of burning hair.

"That was a warning," the man said briskly, his tone light, almost conversational. "Stay where you are. Next time I will aim for the heart." The man's assessing gaze raked Avon up and down. "Who are you?"

Avon brought one hand up to feel the brittle wiry strands of singed hair at his temple, but otherwise remained still. Still angry with himself for giving the man an open target, but nonetheless reassured by the presence of the mining laser that the man was an ally, he said dryly. "Kerr Avon, from the _Liberator_. And you, I take it, are Nagor? Tell me, do you always go around shooting at your allies?" He cocked his head, regarding the man quizzically.

Slowly Nagor lowered the laser, slung it casually over his back as though it were no more than a hand gun, and stepped down the flight of stairs to meet Avon at the base.

"My apologies, Kerr Avon," he said earnestly, giving a sheepish grin and offering his hand. "I did not know it was you. Your clothes are very similar to that of the Federation guards."

Avon looked down at his black tunic and trousers and nodded his head in acknowledgement. "It has been useful on occasion," Avon pointed out.

"I'm sure," Nagor laughed. "Come..."

"I understand Rhiannon is here. Is she badly injured?" Avon interrupted, trying to sound casual.

"No, not at all," Nagor replied with an understanding smile. "She was unconscious for a good while, but she came round a few minutes ago. She was calling for you." He paused and his lips tightened in consternation. "I haven't told her about Kieren. I'm not sure she would believe me."

Avon tried to ignore the sharp stab of undeniable pleasure that the knowledge that Rhiannon had been asking after him caused in his chest. Avon realised that Nagor had continued speaking and he returned his attention to him.

"I'll tell her. We need to concentrate on finding him. As long as he's loose in the complex, Rhiannon won't be safe," Avon said tersely, his face darkening. He put a foot on the bottom tread of the stairs, intending to push past Nagor, but the larger man put a staying hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry about your friend," Nagor intoned softly. "He was very brave and will be remembered on Carillion as a hero. As will all on board the _Liberator_."

"Thank you," Avon returned simply. He regarded the man in front of him thoughtfully. "You know, you remind me of someone," he found himself saying almost absently.

Nagor gave Avon an almost mischievous smile, a curious expression for such a large stern face.

"You knew my brother, Kerr Avon. Olag Gan. On the rare occasions we spoke after he joined you and Blake, he was always full of admiration for your exploits. He loved being useful again, despite retaining that cursed inhibitor, and was always grateful to Blake for rescuing him from Cygnus Alpha. He also spoke very highly of you, Avon. Although when I asked him to describe you, the word difficult was used more than once." Nagor chuckled.

Avon eyes had widened in surprise at Nagor's confession. "I didn't know Gan had a brother," he said slowly. "He never mentioned you." His glance at Nagor was apologetic.

Nagor shrugged unconcernedly. "We had not been brought up together. Different mothers. Mine died when I was a teenager. My father married Gan's mother soon after, but by the time Gan was born I had pretty much left home. We were close, well, as close as two brothers born eighteen years apart could be. I didn't find out about Gan's implant and his arrest until he was already on route for Cygnus Alpha. The Federation were not aware of the connection and it seemed safer to let it stay that way," commented Nagor. "He knew I was on Carillion working as a mine engineer and contacted me when he joined the _Liberator_."

Avon looked seriously at Nagor, amazed at how small the Universe actually was. It was obvious now he looked. Despite his stern face, Nagor had Gan's gentle dark brown knowing eyes, and the same aura of trust radiated from him. "Gan was a loyal man. He gave his life to save us. Neither Blake nor I would be here today if not for him." Avon had often criticized and even mocked Gan for merely following Blake's lead, but now he saw that Gan's loyalty to Blake and to his friends, even Avon, had been a valuable thing. "He is missed," he finished truthfully.

Nagor nodded and bowed his head in a gesture of remembrance and lifted his arm from Avon's shoulder. "You better go up. She's waiting for you." He stepped past Avon, crossing the bay to the entrance where he leant against the wall of the arching doorway, clearing intending to guard them against interruption by friend or foe.

Haltingly Avon climbed the steep flight of stairs. Rhiannon was alive and well. He knew it now. He trusted Nagor's judgement. There was no need to see for himself, no need to open himself up to the pain he knew meeting her again would bring. He should leave. Turn around, walk away, run. It would be easier on both of them. And yet still his feet moved upwards until his hand rested against the door. He paused, his desire to flee almost overwhelming. He lifted his hand from the door. Better to run.

_She has the right to know how you really feel. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me._ Vila's broken words and white pinched face swam into his mind. Vila was right. Avon found his mouth twisting in a wry smile. It was amazing how often that seemed to be the case, for all Vila's companions' accusations of stupidity. Very soon, sooner than Avon cared to think about, he would be gone from their lives. They deserved to know how he felt before he left. Vila and Rhiannon. With a deep, shaking breath, Avon opened the door.

The control room was indistinguishable from every other control room Avon had ever seen. Two walls were covered with a multitude of screens and consoles, arrays of flashing lights lighting up the room with brilliant bursts of colour. Set in the wall containing the door was a long window overlooking the loading bay below. Along the fourth wall, on the far side of the room, was a long low bench.

Rhiannon was stood with her back to the door, intently studying a line of figures scrolling across a display screen. She muttered a low curse and ran her fingers through her hair impatiently. At the sound of the door she said, her back still turned, "Nagor, these casualty figures are not good. Nearly forty percent of our forces are injured, and ten percent are dead. That's over 60 men, Nagor. The only consolation is that the Federation figures are much worse. I'd say that's a case of being hoist by one's own petard."

Her words met only silence and she turned round to the door. "Nothing to to say, Nagor? That's not like..." Her words trailed away as he saw Avon stood in the doorway. "Avon."

Avon stepped through the door way, closed the door behind him and leant back against it, his eyes never once leaving Rhiannon's face.

"Rhiannon," he said hesitantly.

"Why are you here?" Rhiannon's question was almost a whisper, her face filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"I thought you were dead," Avon said baldly, at odds with his eyes, blazing with emotion.

"And would that matter to you?" came Rhiannon's barbed reply.

With a loud, coarse curse, Avon crossed the room in three strides, his boots heavy and menacing on the concrete floor. Reaching her, he grasped her arm, pulling her bodily towards him, his other arm coming up behind her back, imprisoning her against his chest. His mouth fell on hers hungrily, his tongue pushing forcefully against her lips until they parted, allowing him to plunder the dark recess within. He felt her relax into his hold, her mouth pushing against his, returning the kiss with as much fervour as he. With a groan he lifted his mouth from hers, transferring his lips to her face and neck until every centimetre of skin was damp with the evidence of his passion. He buried his face in her flaming hair.

"I thought you were dead," he muttered hoarsely. "When we lost contact...when Soolin said..." His voice fell to a whisper. "I thought you were dead. I thought I'd sent you to your death."

Rhiannon pulled her head back until she could look into Avon's eyes and she nearly gasped at the intensity that greeted her. Gone was any trace of aloofness, the calm urban mask of equanimity, the wall. In their place were unguarded fear, relief, and passion.

"I love you," she whispered, lifting one hand to stroke his face tenderly. She didn't think it was possible but Avon eyes seemed to blaze even brighter for a moment. The arm cradling her back tightened possessively around her but there was disbelief written across his face.

"Do you? After everything I've done to you?"

"Maybe because of everything you've done. It's not something I have a choice about." She gave him a small, almost sad smile. "But even if I had a choice I know what I would choose. I guess the real question is, what do you feel about me? Do you love me, Avon? Be honest. It won't change the way I feel about you but I need to know."

She was giving him a way out, he realised. All he needed to do was say one word. Two letters. Then he could walk away guilt free, his heart essentially intact, the wall between them unbreached. He could go back to the _Liberator_, complete his mission and end his life as he intended. Yes, Rhiannon would be heartbroken and bereft for a while, but that would pass. The grief would fade, and then she would find someone new, someone worthy, someone who could love her back the way she deserved.

_But would it?_ An insistent little voice at the back of his mind taunted him. Would the grief fade? Had his grief faded at the loss of Cally? Had both his and Vila's grief faded at their enforced separation? Weren't those losses still as raw as the day they happened? And that was with feelings acknowledged and embraced.

"Yes. I love you." His voice was small, almost defeated.

Rhiannon's heart gave a painful lurch. "But you don't want to?"

The eyes Avon lifted to hers were pained. "It would be better if I didn't. I told you on the _Liberator_, people who love me, who I love, get hurt. I would save you that if I could."

Rhiannon blinked at him wordlessly. She could think of nothing to say. Nothing that would make Avon's words any less true. Avon studied her face and his own twisted into a grim smile.

"I see you don't disagree with me," he said. "I can't stay here with you. You can't come with me. There are things I have to do that you can't be part of. And when I'm done...well, believe me, you won't want me when I'm done."

Rhiannon shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"It doesn't matter what you believe," Avon retorted, hating the note of coldness that crept into his voice. "That's the way it is. So you see, the fact that I love you doesn't matter a damn."

"It matters to me. And what you don't seem to realise is that I'm happy to take what I can get, be that ten minutes, ten days or ten years."

Avon looked at her incredulously. Rhiannon lifted her lips to meet his, teasing them with a light, flirtatious kiss.

"Ten minutes, ten days, ten years, Avon. As long as I know you love me." Rhiannon repeated, willing Avon to believe her. It was a lie; an eternity wouldn't be long enough. If she could she'd imprison him, with her, until the end of time. But she couldn't. If she tried, he'd despise her and that was something she couldn't even contemplate. So she'd take her ten minutes, her ten days, her ten years, and then she'd die inside. And it would be worth it.

She stepped back, out of the circle of his arms, watching as his arms fell limply to his sides, clearly unsure of what to do next.

She held out one hand and said softly, "Come with me. If we only have ten minutes, I'm not wasting a single one of them."

Avon looked at her hand for a long moment. His last chance. He should just turn and walk away and ignore the despair that lurked behind her eyes. Walk away and rebuild the wall that had kept him safe for the past four years. Or he could let it fall and snatch a last few hours of something approaching a normal life.

Rhiannon took a step towards the door, keeping her hand extended. "Are you coming?"

"Do I have a choice?" Avon said wryly, his voice regaining some of its usual dry tone.

Rhiannon shrugged but smiled as she admonished, "Everyone has a choice, Avon."

Avon raised his eyebrows as he took her fingers in his own.

"Choice is an illusion," he commented, ignoring the sound of metaphorical masonry crashing to the ground around him. "Free will doubly so."

* * *

As they crossed the wide expanse of the loading bay, the shadows on the long uneven wall shifted as a tall wiry figure stepped forward into the harsh glare lighting the centre of the cavern. Kieren's thin angular face was twisted into a rapacious smile, in his hand the ugly black form of a Federation laser pistol pointed unwaveringly at Rhiannon's heart. Instinctively Avon stepped forward intending to place himself between Rhiannon and the barrel of the pistol.

"Stay where you are, Avon," Kieren spat, his finger visibly tightening on the trigger. Avon froze at the movement and, risking a rapid darting look at Rhiannon's pale shocked face, he took a pace backward resuming his position at her side. His eyes returned to Kieren's face, scanning his features for some sign of the young man's intentions, but all he could discern was the blaze of zealous madness in Kieren's pale eyes. His intention to kill Rhiannon was obvious – after killing her father only she stood between him and the crown - but Avon was banking on the young man's eagerness to gloat over his actions. He needed time to decide what to do.

"You must be Kieren," he said coldly, his dark eyes challenging.

Kieren briefly bowed his head in acknowledgement, although his eyes never left Avon's.

"Kieren, what are you doing?" Rhiannon's shocked question was barely a whisper. Kieren's eyes flickered to Rhiannon, his smile cruel.

"Kieren is the traitor," Avon replied, before Kieren could respond. His tone was flat. "He killed your father and betrayed you to the Federation. I don't know how long he's been in their pay. Some time I would imagine, given the number of people he's managed to place in the complex. And he murdered Tarrant."

Rhiannon's face crumpled at the mention of her father, her breath escaping in a low moan of pain. At the news of Tarrant's death she lifted her eyes to meet Avon's, seeing her own pain and loss mirrored darkly within.

"Yes, sorry about that." Kieren's tone was light, almost jovial. "Couldn't be helped. And Comissioner Sleer will be pleased." He didn't bother to hide his pride at his achievement. "But not as pleased as when I present your body to her. And hers as well." His reference to Rhiannon was dismissive. "Hefeydd was a weak old man and she...she is a defenceless woman, unfit to rule a planet like Carillion, one with such a strategic value to the Federation. Hefeydd was deluded in taking a stand against the Federation. With the Federation's help Carillion will be powerful and possess more wealth than you can dream of. And soon that power and wealth will be mine to command. I have proved my worth to Commissioner Sleer. She has promised that I will rule.

"Commissioner Sleer is dead," Avon cut in, a grim smile of satisfaction curling his full lips as he watched Kieren visibly recoil in shock.

"You're lying," Kieren spat back, his face draining of what little natural colour it possessed.

"I slit her throat with a knife," Avon taunted, watching as Kieren began to tremble with barely suppressed rage. He needed Kieren to lose control, but not to fire his gun. He had to make him want to kill Avon with his bare hands. "I cut her from here to here," Avon gestured from one ear to the other with his hand, "and I watched as her blood spilled to the floor in a cascade of scarlet. I can't tell you what a thrill it gave me. Watching as her life was swept away. It was beautiful, no less than she deserved. And what was most beautiful of all was the fear in her eyes as she faced her own mortality. Her own eyes shone with the terror she had inflicted on so many of her victims." Avon took a hesitant step towards Kieren, looking for a reaction, but Kieren seemed almost unaware of him, his wild eyes a mixture of disbelief and growing fury. Reassured, Avon took another pace forward and another, until there was barely an arm's length between them. Keeping one hand low and out of Kieren's line of sight, he motioned for Rhiannon to keep back and from the corner of his eye saw her disappear from his vision as she took a step back.

Avon moistened his lips, suddenly dry with anticipation. "So what now, Kieren?" he asked, his voice low and coldly mocking. "Your paymaster is dead and the Federation assault has failed. You are alone, no help is on its way. The Federation command outside of this complex are not even aware that your little takeover was even happening. There will be no crown for you, Kieren. Just a trial, if you're lucky, and an execution worthy of a traitor. You've failed."

Kieren let out a sudden guttural roar, more animal than human and fired the laser pistol. Avon let out a grunt of pain as the laser bolt, thrown wide of its mark by Kieren's shaking rage, grazed his left arm, cauterising the wound before blood had chance to flow. He dropped to his knees, throwing himself at Kieren's legs and tackling the younger man to the floor. At the same time he reached down into his boot with his uninjured arm, pulling from the soft leather the long slim knife he had used to fake Servalan's death, the imitation blood still staining the blade. Grasping the knife firmly, he pinned Kieren's flailing limbs and twisting, struggling torso to the ground, his bulkier build easily suppressing Kieren's lean frame. He knelt, one leg on either side of Kieren's body, sitting heavily on his chest so that the man was gasping for breath. With a vicious smile of triumph Avon leant down close over Kieren's face, bringing the blade of the knife to Kieren's throat.

"Do you know what this is?" he said silkily, stroking the blade against the pale white clammy flesh of Kieren's throat, leaving a thin red weal of blood in its wake. "This is the knife I used to kill your mistress. Funny, I can see the same terror in your eyes I saw in hers. I think it might be better if I saved everyone the trouble of a trial, don't you?"

He brought the blade right up against one ear and looked across at Rhiannon, staring at the scene before her with undisguised horror.

Kieren followed his gaze and, seeing Rhiannon, pleaded, "Please, Rhiannon. You can't let this happen. A trial. There has to be a trial. For God's sake, Rhiannon. Please. Stop him. He has to listen to you. You're queen now. Make him stop." The whine of his voice became increasingly high-pitched and desperate.

Rhiannon looked at him, uncertainty written clearly on her face. Her eyes slid to Avon's, black, expressionless, and utterly merciless. It was like looking into the void. Even if she asked him to stop, she knew he would not. She swallowed, forcing her features into a mask of indifference. One worthy of the great Kerr Avon himself. Then, slowly, deliberately she turned her back.

A muted cry of terror escaped Kieren's lips, bringing Avon's eyes down to meet his. Kieren looked into the abyss as Avon leant forward and snarled, his face alight with vengeance, "I promised Tarrant I would make you bleed. And, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I always keep my promises."

In a single swift motion he brought the blade down against Kieren's throat, digging deep into the soft flesh until the dark blood gushed over his hand onto the concrete floor. He lifted his hand so that the blood dripped down onto Kieren's face, running in rivulets across his cheeks. With satisfaction he watched as the terror in the young man's widening eyes was gradually replaced by blank lifelessness, knowing that the last thing that the traitor saw was the dark abyss of Avon's revenge, his last scent, the iron tang of his own blood leaching away. He'd been faking before, as he told Kieren of Servalan's death, but he had been right. It was beautiful.


	13. Consequences

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read this and a special mention to cjh4ever for the wonderful, considered reviews – I know it's a time-consuming business and I thank you heartily!**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

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* * *

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_Consequences_

"You killed him." Rhiannon's voice was shaking as violently as her slim shoulders. She stood apart, watching the last of Kieren's blood flow onto the cold floor.

Avon sat back on his haunches and, taking a corner of the hem of Kieren's loose tunic, dispassionately wiped the worst of the blood from his hands.

"Yes. I couldn't allow him to live," Avon said shortly. "If he'd gone to trial the Federation would have found some way to free him. You would never have been safe. Besides, he deserved to die. He killed your father, betrayed your people, murdered Tarrant."

"You don't need to list his crimes," Rhiannon retorted bitterly. "But he was right about one thing: I'm queen now. I should have been the one to execute him, not you."

Avon climbed wearily to his feet and crossed to her, making sure not to touch her with his scarlet-stained hands. He looked steadily at her and gave a half-smile of something like pity.

"But you wouldn't have. You would have let him rot in gaol. It's not in your nature to kill."

"But it is yours?"

"Evidently. You will make a wonderful queen, Rhiannon, kind, just, benevolent, but at the moment that's not what Carillion needs," Avon said honestly, watching the indignation mount in Rhiannon's face. "It needs leaders capable of pulling the trigger."

"You're saying I should abdicate?" she said angrily. "Just give up everything my father fought for?"

"No!" Avon shook his head. "I'm saying you can't rule Carillion alone. You need advisers, a government made up of trusted men and women who can make the decisions you can't."

"Is that what this has all been about?" Rhiannon said incredulously. "Do you want to take Kieren's place at my side? Or is it more than that? Do you want my crown, Avon? Is that what you're after?" She took a stumbling step backwards, away from Avon, her eyes wide with revulsion.

"No!" Avon's horrified exclamation made her pause. He shook his head violently. "No. I don't want it," he reiterated, barely able to believe the words that were coming from his own mouth. Wasn't that what he had always wanted? No, more than that, needed? Power? When had that need left him? "Once, not so very long ago, I would have," he said slowly, "but not now."

Rhiannon stepped towards him, her expression curious and wary. "So what's changed?"

"I don't know," Avon admitted. "I wish I knew. But believe me, Rhiannon; your crown is in no danger from me. No, what I meant is that you need some of your own people. People who know and love Carillion like you do."

"Like who? I think you've just proved that there's no-one I can trust." Rhiannon gave a weary smile.

"Like Nagor. Start with one," Avon suggested. "The rest will come in time."

"Where is he, by the way?" Rhiannon frowned. "I can't believe he just let you waltz in unchallenged."

"He didn't," Avon confessed, fingering his singed hair. "I left him guarding the entrance."

"So if he was guarding the entrance, how did Kieren get in?" Rhiannon blanched. "Oh God, no!"

They both ran for the doorway, calling Nagor's name in low voices. As they approached the vast entrance they could see no sign of Nagor's imposing bulk and Avon felt his stomach turn. He'd dropped his guard and another man had paid the ultimate price for his distraction. By the entrance way, the lights were less intense and dark shadows hugged the base of the cavern walls. Avon stepped out into the corridor, scanning left and right for any sign of Nagor's presence, but there was nothing. He turned back to Rhiannon, looking fearfully at him.

"Do you think Kieren killed him?" she stammered. Avon didn't reply, his face giving her his answer. She buried her face in her hands. Avon joined her and opened his arms to comfort her, then, realising that his hands were still stained with the traitor's blood, dropped them to his side, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. They stood in silence for a full minute, Rhiannon's silent sobs wracking her slender frame. Then from the darkness behind the long loading conveyors criss-crossing the loading bay Avon heard a low moan.

"Ssh! Listen!" he said quickly, cocking his head to one side and looking intently into the shadows. Rhiannon stilled. There was another long silence and then the moan came again, stronger than before.

"Nagor?" Avon shouted, pulling away from Rhiannon and disappearing into the shadows.

"Here, Avon." A weak voice wafted up to her from the darkness. She heard the sound of scuffling, a grunt of pain, and then a moment later Nagor, heavily supported by Avon, emerged from the shadows. Rhiannon could see one shoulder was heavily stained with blood and there was a deep gash in his temple.

"That was stupid," he said testily. "I was so busy looking for Federation coming down the corridors I never checked who was already in the bay. Fortunately I heard him approach just before he attacked me with his knife and he only got my shoulder. I guess he must have heard you coming because he didn't bother to finish me off, just took a swipe at me with my own mining laser. The indignity of it." As he finished speaking he shook off Avon's support. "Where is he?"

"Dead," Avon said abruptly. "Very, very dead. Is there somewhere I can wash my hands?" He raised his palms for Nagor to see.

Nagor raised one eyebrow, wincing as he did so.

"There's a wash-up station just over there. Nasty dirty stuff this ore. Gets everywhere."

Avon nodded his thanks and disappeared into the shadows. A moment later they heard the sound of running water.

"So..."Nagor said, staring appraisingly at Rhiannon's pale face. "He came for you. A new consort?"

Rhiannon shook her head. "He's not staying. But...how would you feel about being the Lord Chancellor? Avon says I need people I can trust. And at that moment that's pretty much you."

Nagor looked taken aback. "I'm just a mine engineer," he protested.

"No, you were a mine engineer. Now you're my Lord Chancellor."

Nago shrugged. "If that's what you want. What does a Lord Chancellor do?"

Rhiannon shrugged back. "I have absolutely no idea," she confessed. "But I do have a request."

"Name it, my queen," Nagor said theatrically.

Rhiannon gave a mock scowl. "Knock it off. Rhiannon is good enough. Nagor, if you're up to it, could you make sure that everything is on schedule and oversee the loading of the shipment?"

"Of course," Nagor assured her. "Would I be correct in thinking you needed some time to complete negotiations with Kerr Avon?"

He gave her a level look and, when she did not disagree, gave a conspiratorial wink, again eliciting a wince.

"Do you know what, Nagor? I think you might just have been one of my better choices."

Avon appeared at her side, flexing his now clean fingers. He looked questioningly at her. Given the events of the last few minutes, he was no longer certain of what would happen next. Rhiannon had been stunned and horrified at his violence. Would she shun him for his actions?

As if sensing his thoughts she took his hand in hers squeezing gently. "Shall we go?" she asked softly. "Nagor has everything covered here."

Mutely, Avon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She had seen him at his most ruthless and yet she was prepared to accept him, accept the monster he had become.

Under Nagor's watchful gaze they left the loading bay, Rhiannon leading the way down a series of twisting corridors leading deeper into the complex. Avon drew his gun, keeping it close to his chest. The Federation assault may have failed but there was no saying how many Federation troops still roamed the complex. After several, thankfully uneventful minutes, Rhiannon stopped outside an ornately carved door flanked by two stone pillars carved from the cavern walls themselves. Her eyes met Avon's, her uncertainty mirrored in his own.

"Are you sure about this?" It seemed odd, the question coming from Rhiannon's lips. Surely it should be him asking her? After all, she had far more to lose than he did. His fate was already set.

"Are you?" He turned the question round, unwilling to answer.

Rhiannon said nothing, merely leaning forwards to chastely kiss Avon's cheek. Then she pulled from the neckline of her tunic a slender gold chain bearing a finely wrought iron key. Stepping forward to the door she slipped the key in the lock, turning it with a well-oiled click. She pushed the door open, stepping through into the chamber beyond. Avon paused for a moment on the threshold and then silently followed her inside.

He glanced around the room with frank curiosity. The harsh lines of the cavern walls were tempered by soft drapes suspended from thick cords slung across the ceiling. The material was opaque, the torches beyond forming a wall of dancing shadows on their folds. The cavern was smaller than Avon expected for a state apartment, but was lavishly furnished with rugs and heavy wooden furniture similar to that in Hefeydd's apartment. At one end a swathe of heavy emerald green velvet half-obscured a high, ornately carved bed. There was nothing contemporary about this room, no vid-screens or comms units. This was like something from the ancient history books. A medieval palace.

Rhiannon stood in the centre of the room, her eyes following his on their tour of the room. Finally they came to rest on the velvet curtain and what lay beyond.

"This is impressive," Avon commented, almost wincing at the crassness of his trivial remark. "It's beautiful," he amended.

Rhiannon gave a soft laugh, startling him. "It's just a room, Avon, but thank you. I like it."

As she spoke Avon crossed the room to stand before her and barely had the words left her lips than Avon took them in a powerful kiss that drove the breathe from her lungs. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip until they parted, allowing him to thrust his tongue deep into her welcoming mouth, where hers met it in eager battle. Avon crushed Rhiannon to him, his hands digging deep into her hair like a man possessed, the evidence of his arousal starkly presented against her hip. A moan of longing escaped Rhiannon's lips, swallowed by Avon's waiting mouth. Avon felt her knees start to give and with one arm he lifted her against him and staggered across to the high, mattressed bed, letting her fall back against the honey-coloured linen of the bedspread. Rhiannon's head lolled back and she watched Avon through heavy lidded eyes as he leant over her to lave the soft skin of her neck and collarbone with his tongue, interspersing the gentle strokes with open-mouthed kisses, sending shivers coursing down her spine.

"Avon." His name came out as a cracked whisper and he grinned wolfishly against her neck, bringing his hand up to push the material of her tunic to one side and plunder the soft skin of her breast beneath. His cool fingers elicited a throaty squeak of surprise which softened almost to a purr as he teased the sensitive flesh with his fingertips. She twisted beneath him, her hands grasping at thin air, as the sensations he was creating threatened to overwhelm her. And then her hands closed on his hips, pulling him to her with such sudden ferocity that Avon gasped. He released her, pulling back from the bed, his face softening at the sudden hurt flaring in her befuddled gaze.

"I get the feeling we're a little overdressed," he said, sliding his hand down the length of Rhiannon's body, coming to rest at the waistband of her loose fitting trousers. He pushed one finger up under the tunic and stroked the smooth skin of her belly, noting with satisfaction the tremor that ran beneath his hand. He pulled his hand away, shrugging his own tunic over his head, revealing the smooth planes of his chest and stomach, the muscled arms covered with a scattering of downy dark hair.

Rhiannon swallowed audibly, her face flaming with colour, and her eyes slid away from his.

"What's the matter?" Avon asked gently, although he had a pretty good idea. It was unlikely that an heir to the throne who had been betrothed since childhood was experienced in anything other than a chaste kiss on the lips.

Rhiannon gave a brittle laugh. "As if you don't know. God, you must think I'm such a child."

"Why would you think that? Do you know how it makes me feel? Knowing that I am the only person to ever touch you?" Avon's words were a throaty growl that was almost a caress.

"I don't want anyone else to touch me," Rhiannon murmured.

"Good." Avon stepped back to the bed, lifting Rhiannon to a sitting position with one arm and deftly pushing the tunic off her shoulders and down her arms until it was bunched at her waist. His eyes followed the path of the material, flaring appreciatively as Rhiannon's smooth skin was revealed.

Rhiannon coughed self-consciously. "Avon, can we..." Her voice trailed off. "The lights? I feel like I'm on public display."

"There's only me," Avon chuckled. Nonetheless he got to his feet and moved around the chamber until every torch, bar the one immediately behind the bed, was extinguished.

"Better?" he asked, returning to the bed.

In the time it had taken Avon to snuff out the torches, Rhiannon had scooted between the covers. She nodded.

"Spoilsport," he commented wryly, slipping in beside her, leaving the rest of his clothes pooled beside the bed. Rhiannon snuggled in against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. From the long expanse of leg that was now entangled with his own it was clear that Rhiannon had taken advantage of his brief absence to divest herself of the rest of her clothing. The image the knowledge conjured sent a shudder through his limbs.

"Maidenly modesty," she retorted with a giggle, suddenly at ease now that she was safely cocooned under the sheets in Avon's arms.

Lightning fast, Avon rolled her over onto her back, shifting his body so it was covering hers. His lips hovered above hers, his eyes almost jet black with desire as they stared into Rhiannon's. He dropped feather light kisses on each corner of her mouth, whilst one hand moved in long stokes down her ribcage towards her taut stomach. Each stroke drew from her a mew of wanting that made Avon's heart race. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel this alive, and he intended to savour every sensation. After all, the memory would have to sustain him for a lifetime.

"Well, since you've deprived me of exploring your body with my eyes," Avon growled, a wicked gleam in his eye, "I'll have to use some other methods at my disposal." He flexed his fingers, tapping a rhythm against the heated skin of her stomach before letting them dance down until he was rewarded with a fractured inarticulate gasp.

He focused on Rhiannon's flushed features. The barely parted lips mouthing his name in mute pleading. The half-closed eyelids concealing smoky jade orbs. The spattering of freckles across her nose. The tiny crescent shaped scar marring one perfectly arching eyebrow. Each detail, one and all, Avon committed to memory.

"What are you waiting for?" Rhiannon whispered, her hands reaching out and fluttering helplessly by her side. Carefully Avon captured each hand, bringing them up and pinning them at either side of her head.

"Nothing," Avon breathed as he brought his mouth down on hers once more.

* * *

Soolin stretched in her seat, trying to ease some life back into her aching muscles. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on the panel before her. After confirming that nothing was visible on the scanners she cast a look around the flight deck. On the white leather couch one level below her, Vila lounged against the backrest. His eyes were closed but she knew the appearance of sleep was feigned. Vila had been increasingly on edge since Avon had teleported to the loading bay, his eyes flickering to the comms console every few minutes, his face growing gradually paler. Laid next to him, her head resting on his lap was Dayna, the girl's tear-stained face hidden behind one hand. By mutual consent, they had kept vigil on the flight deck, each not wanting to be alone. Although Vila and Soolin had been shocked and saddened by Tarrant's death, Dayna had taken the loss hardest, crying long into the night, berating herself for not accompanying him to the planet, convinced her presence would have saved him. Vila had known they were close, but their relationship had obviously gone much deeper than even he knew. It seemed this crew had been keeping many secrets from each other and Vila wondered how many more would be dragged into the open before this mission was over. In the early hours of the morning Vila had finally managed to persuade Dayna to sleep, with the assistance of a liberal dose of sleep inducer. In spite of the drug, she had woken sobbing several times in the night, racked by tortured nightmares.

Soolin straightened painfully, having been on her feet at the command console for hours, and took a few tentative steps to check the other control panels, trying not to disturb her companions. Vila stirred, alerted by the movement. His eyes flickered first to the comms console, then to Soolin, before finally settling on the Dayna's head on his lap. He smiled sadly at her, lightly brushing the tear tracks from her cheeks with one thumb. Dayan's nose wrinkled, disturbed and she tried to turn her face away. The movement sent pins and needles shooting up Vila's calves and he let out a loud, involuntary groan. Immediately Dayna's eyes flickered open and she sat bolt upright, almost falling from the sofa, her slight frame taut with panic.

"It's all right," Vila soothed, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's only me. I'm sorry I woke you."

Dayna remained still for a moment and then relaxed against the back cushion of the sofa with a sigh. "That's okay, Vila. Thank you for looking after me last night...you too, Soolin."

Embarrassed, Soolin waved away Dayna's thanks. Vila just smiled and nodded.

"Has there been any word from Avon?" Dayna asked, looking from Vila's tense face to Soolin's exhausted one.

Vila bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

Soolin scowled. "I've tried to raise him twice with no reply. If he wants us he knows where we are."

"Do you think he found Tarrant?" Dayna asked her voice flat and cold. "Or did he not even bother looking once he found out Rhiannon had been hurt."

Vila gave a deep sigh. Avon would have made his peace with Tarrant, he knew, but neither Dayna nor Soolin would believe him. What was worrying him was what he had done next. It wasn't in Avon's nature to let such an act of betrayal go unpunished. He'd gone after Kieren alone. He could already be dead down there. Vila hurriedly pushed the thought aside

"Is there any sight of the transport ships?" he asked, hoping to distract both his thoughts and Dayna's from Avon's continued absence.

Soolin recognised what he was trying to do and followed his lead. "No, the long range scanners are clear. What's curious is that I would expect to pick up their transmissions by now. They can't be that far out. But there's nothing. We're getting some kind of interference. Orac says it's something to do with all the radiation from the battle, but I'm not sure I believe him."

Muttering a string of curses under her breath, Dayna got to her feet and crossed to the weapons console, where she began to punch a series of buttons in quick succession.

"What are you doing?" Soolin asked, looking somewhat confused.

"Clearing the neutron blasters for firing," Dayna explained tersely, not shifting her attention from the panel in front of her. "There's something off about this whole set up and I want to be ready for whatever it is. Soolin, keep an eye on those long range scanners. I want to know the second anything comes into range. I'm not taking any chances now."

Soolin returned to her console, leaning back against the chair with a wince, and concentrated her attention on the scanners before her. Vila slowly got to his feet and staggered round to his console. He leant back gratefully into his chair.

"You could do with losing a couple of pounds," he moaned in Dayna's direction. "I've got no blood left in my legs at all."

Dayna gave him a nasty look and immediately stalked out of the flight deck towards the teleport. "I'm going to check the teleport. Call me if you need me," she called over her shoulder.

She had barely managed to take a seat behind the teleport controls when Soolin hailed her on the internal intercom. Racing back to the flight deck, she found Soolin was poring over the long range detectors, her face anxious, her fingers furiously moving over the console making tactical calculations.

"Have you spotted something?" Dayna asked urgently, as she hurried down the steps to Soolin's console.

"About a thousand somethings," Soolin muttered, not lifting her eyes from the scanners. She hit a couple of buttons and a enlarged version of her scanner screen was projected onto the _Liberator_'s main screen. A swarm of red dots filled their view. "Most of them are too big to be Federation pursuit ships. My guess is that they are the Federation convoy to transport the Narox. Orac, confirm. Are we getting any transmissions from them yet?"

"NEGATIVE. MY SCAN OF THE VESSELS CONRFIRMS THAT THE SHIPS ARE THE FEDERATION CONVOY. ANALYSIS SUGGESTS THAT THERE ARE NINE HUNDRED AND SEVEN CARGO SHIPS, CONSISTING MAINLY OF WANDERER CLASS PLANET HOPPERS MODIFIED TO CARRY CARGO WITH A FURTHER ONE HUNDRED PURSUIT CRAFT ASSIGNED FOR PROTECTION. AT THE CURRENT TIME THE SHIPS ARE MAINTAINING COMMS SILENCE. IT IS PROBABLE THAT THIS IS STANDARD PROCEDURE, GIVEN THE CRITICAL NATURE OF THE CONVOY. THE FLEET WILL MOST LIKELY COMMENCE TRANSMISSIONS ONCE THEY ARE WITHIN COMMS RANGE OF THE PLANET. TIME ESTIMATE: THIRTY MINUTES."

"How long before they can detect us?" Dayna asked.

"FIFTEEN MINUTES, TWELVE POINT TWO THREE SECONDS. THE CONVOY SHOULD ATTAIN ORBIT IN PRECISELY FOUR HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES."

"I still can't see how just nine hundred ships can deliver the Narox to all the planets the stuff is used on in the allotted time," Vila said absently, to no one in particular. "There must be thousands."

Orac however decided to answer the question for him. "A TRIVIAL QUESTION." Orac's tone sounded even more impatient than usual. "THE WANDERER CLASS SHIPS WILL TRAVEL TO ASSIGNED BASE PLANETS IN EACH QUADRANT, THE FURTHEST BEING TWENTY FOUR HOURS AWAY. MARK TEN FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS THEN DISTRIBUTE THE SMALLER QUANTITIES REQUIRED TO EACH PLANET IN THAT QUADRANT. LAST DELIVERY OF THE NAROX WILL BE COMPLETED FORTY EIGHT HOURS AFTER LEAVING CARILLION."

Soolin flashed Vila an irritated glance: who cared how it got there just as long as it did.

"Orac," she put in loudly. "Can you access the computers of those ships? I need to know what orbit position each of them is taking. Then see if there is any orbital position where we can't be detected."

"VERY WELL. THE TASK WILL TAKE SEVERAL MINUTES."

"It better be quick. We need to move into place by the time they come into range."

The flight deck fell silent, apart from the insistent hum of Orac. Audible over the intercom, it seemed to grow in intensity as the silence lengthened. All three looked at each other, their faces worried and drawn, the same question written on their faces. Finally Vila decided to voice it.

"Where the hell is Avon?" he muttered angrily. As one Dayna and Soolin shrugged. Soolin returned her attention to the scanners and Dayna took her place at the controls of the neutron blasters. Sighing, Vila tried once more to contact Avon. There was no reply. There was nothing he could do but wait.

* * *

There were the sounds of soft even breaths in Avon's ear, the tickle of silky wisps of hair on his cheek and neck. For a long moment Avon lay still, luxuriating in the near silence, the feel of Rhiannon's warm body nestled against his side, her arm draped languorously across his waist. The feeling of contentment was alien, even dangerous. The feeling of peace pinned him to the bed, preventing him from doing what had to be done. He forced himself to open his eyes, allowing reality to flood in once more. The room was shadowy, only the single torch he had left burning illuminated the heavy folds of material surrounding the bed. Avon turned his head carefully until he could see Rhiannon's face tucked against his shoulder, her flaming hair free and fanned out back across the pillow. Her jade eyes were hidden in sleep, long lush dark russet lashes resting gently on her flushed cheeks. Her swollen lips were curved in a satisfied smile. Avon lifted his free hand, reaching over to caress her cheek with feather-light fingers. Her eyelashes fluttered as she stirred, her nose wrinkling briefly before relaxing into deep sleep once more.

Avon's eyes were intense as he watched her, once more committing every facet of her face to memory, imprinting the feel of her touch, the texture of her skin under his hands. Lifting Rhiannon's arm from his stomach he carefully slid sideways out of the bed. Standing beside the bed, he tucked the covers around her shoulders, watching warily for signs of stirring. Satisfied that she was still deeply asleep, he risked leaning over and pressing his lips to her forehead in a brief kiss. Still she did not stir. Straightening, he grabbed his clothes from where he had feverishly discarded them in an untidy pile on the floor and slipped beyond the curtains into the dark room beyond. He dressed silently; each item of black clothing donned a piece of armour, reinforcing his walls once more. The Avon that left this room would be the Avon from Gauda Prime, focused, driven, ruthless; Rhiannon's Avon would be lost forever. But first...

He glanced about the dimly lit room until, on the far side, he spotted a waist-high table with a slanted surface. In front was a chair. Both pieces were of a more delicate construction than the rest of the furniture in the room and clearly belonged to a different period of Earth history. With barely a sound he crossed the room. Pulling a slim pen-shaped light from his belt, he lit it, sending a narrow beam of pure white light lancing across the room. Reaching the table he directed the beam downwards, picking out the fine marquetry of the sloping surface. Balanced on a slight raised lip running along the bottom edge of the slope were several sheets of wood pulp paper, something Avon couldn't remember seeing since his childhood. Alongside them was a graphite pencil, clearly antique, sharpened to a fine point. A writing table. Avon gave a sad half-smile. Perfect.

Balancing the light on the top of the table, its light was reflecting back off the wall and illuminating the table in a weak circle of light, he lifted the pencil in his right hand, rolling it between his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd had to write anything by hand. He sat down on the spindly chair, grimacing as it creaked under his weight and looked at the blank paper in front of him. What could he say? Was there anything he could write that would make what he was about to do any better? He was leaving without saying goodbye, discarding her as though she meant nothing. Anything he said would just be rubbing salt in the wound. Maybe it would be better if he said nothing, just disappeared from her life? No, the least he could do was acknowledge what had passed between them. He stared at the page for a full minute then put pencil to paper and began to write. The message was short. My Love, you gave me one night of complete peace and I will treasure that for the rest of my life. I'm sorry for what I have to do. Forgive me. Avon. He paused, looking at the words he'd written, then in hurried scribble added the words, Find Vila. He'll make sure you're safe. He's the only one I trust.

Taking the paper, he folded it in half and, returning to the bed, laid it on the pillow, still warm from where his head had rested. He stared at the sleeping Rhiannon for several seconds, unwilling to make the final separation. As he watched, she turned over, her breath escaping in a low muttering sigh. Avon froze, holding his breath for what seemed like an eternity, until Rhiannon's breath evened once more. Grabbing his gun belt, hanging unnoticed over the end of the bed, he hurried away, his heart hammering in his chest, the desire to run back and slip into Rhiannon's waiting arms almost more than he could stand. Only once he had shut the door to Rhiannon's quarters behind him could he breathe.

He wasn't sure if the hammering ache in his chest would ever leave him.

* * *

Soolin glanced anxiously at the scanners yet again. There were just four minutes left until they came in detector range of the convoy, barely long enough to make the necessary orbital manoeuvres. Angrily she drummed her fingers on the console in an impatient tattoo. Orac was taking too long, and Avon? God only knows where he was. For the fiftieth time in the past ten minutes she wished she had never gotten involved with this crazy plan. She could have stayed on Gauda Prime with Blake, or even hitched a ride to some other desolate planet where no-one knew her name. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn't realise that Orac had begun to speak and she had to ask him to repeat it.

"I AM NOT ACCUSTOMED TO HAVING TO REPEAT MYSELF," Orac pointed out petulantly. "DO NOT SET ME TASKS IF YOU CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO LISTEN TO THE ANSWER."

"Just get on with it," Soolin snapped, her temper finally fraying.

"AS YOU WISH. THERE IS A BLIND SPOT ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE PLANET IN WHICH THE CONVOY WILL BE UNABLE TO DETECT THE _LIBERATOR_. HOWEVER, WE WILL HAVE NO COMMUNICATIONS TO THE PLANET AND TELEPORT TO THE COMPLEX WILL NOT BE POSSIBLE. FROM THIS POSITION IT WILL REQUIRE ONE MINUTE EIGHT SECONDS TO ACHIEVE THE REQUIRED ORBIT RECALCULATION."

"Thank you, Orac," Soolin said, her voice once more calm. "Transfer the coordinates through to the flight controls, then patch me through to Nagor on the planet's surface." Orac's persistant hum rose in volume for a moment before being drowned out, first by a hiss of static and then Nagor's voice carrying across the deck acknowledging the contact.

"Nagor, this is Soolin. The convoy will be arriving in just under four hours. Is the altered Narox ready?"

"Yes, we are just finishing packaging it now. Do you want us to load it onto the transports as normal?"

"Yes. We are going to have to move out of their scanner range, so we won't be able to contact you again until the convoy has left. I'll send Dayna down to help out."

"There is no need. Her presence would only alert the Federation to the true situation. We are all known and cleared by the convoy personnel," Nagor replied.

"Fine." Soolin paused. "Nagor, have you seen Avon?"

"Is he not back yet? Avon and Rhiannon left here hours ago, not long after Rhiannon regained consciousness. Soolin, Avon killed Kieren. He ambushed us in the loading bay."

"What?" Soolin shocked shout echoed round the flight deck. "Why did nobody tell us?"

Nagor's voice was apologetic. "I'm sorry. I thought Kerr Avon would have let you know the situation."

Soolin gave a snort of incredulity. "Kerr Avon actually deign to tell his crew anything? You obviously don't know him very well. Do you know where they went?"

Nagor coughed. "They...er...said they had some negotiations to complete. They didn't specify where." The embarrassment in his tone was evident even a thousand spacials away. Soolin grimaced. Of all the times to pursue a love affair. Shaking her head, she thanked Nagor and signed off. She glanced at the scanners. Forty more seconds and they would have to move. She needed to tell Vila and Dayna about Kieren. She knew Dayna would react badly to the news, her plans for vengeance taken from her once again.

However, now was not the time. Rapidly Soolin reviewed the coordinates Orac had specified. The blind spot was barely larger than the _Liberator_ and it would take all her powers of concentration and skills as a pilot to keep them on point. Keeping one hand on the flight controls, she powered up the main engines and prepared to move the vast ship into its new orbit.

Suddenly there was a hiss from the communicators and Avon's strident voice rang through the ship. "Bring me up. Now!"

Soolin sighed and, turning the communicator to internal, she said, "You heard the man, Vila, bring him up."

Soolin waited fifteen seconds, then pushed forward on the flight controls. The ship shuddered slightly as the manoeuvring thrusters fired and the _Liberator_ began to move. She hoped Avon was aboard, because if he wasn't it was too late.


	14. In The Kingdom Of The Blind

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

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* * *

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_In The Kingdom Of The Blind...  
_

The Commander of Federation One, one of the ten pursuit ships leading the convoy, perused the console before her with consternation. Something just didn't add up. The scanner before her showed empty space apart from the vast mass of Carillion spread before them. Yet for just a moment, for the slightest fraction of a second, she could have sworn that she had seen a ship in orbit around the planet. She had blinked and the shadow had vanished. Space fatigue, she decided with irritation, too long since she had felt _terra firma_ beneath her feet. She shook her head, trying to work the knots out of her neck muscles.

To her right her aide looked at her curiously. "Are you all right, Commander Kentis?" he asked. His voice was filled with concern, though his eyes were alight with the long awaited possibility of taking over command, even for a short while.

"I'm fine, Garans, just a stiff neck," Kentis said shortly. The aide's ambitions had not gone unnoticed. "How long before we reach Carillion?"

Garans' face blanched perceptibly. Although the commander's tone had been relatively mild, the warning gleam in her eyes had been all too plain. "We should achieve standard orbit in a little less than four hours. Loading can begin on schedule."

"Good. Have we made contact with the planet yet?"

"No, Commander," Garans said hesitantly.

"What have you been playing at, Garans?" Kentis's tone now sharp. "We have been in range for several minutes now."

"We've detected some interference. Possibly a residual effect of the planned takeover action," Garans explained nervously.

"Ah, yes. Carillion should be entirely under Federation control now." Kentis paused, considering. "Very well, we'll try again when we make orbit." She frowned. "Has there been any news about the distress message received from Commissioner Sleer?"

"No, Commander. The last communication from Command stated that all available fighting ships were to proceed directly to Gauda Prime. Will we follow them?"

"Yes, once we have escorted the convoy beyond the range of Carillion weaponry, although I can't see why it should be necessary now."

"It is possible that we haven't gained control of the planet as planned," Garans ventured. "After all, the reinforcement assault troops were diverted to Gauda-Prime."

Kentis turned her condescending gaze upon her aide. "Do you think, Garans, that a group of ill-equipped rebels can defeat even one company of well-trained, crack Federation troops?" Her pale blue eyes were glacial matching her voice. "You must have a very low opinion of the Federation's capabilities..."

"N...no, not at all," Garans stammered, taking a step back away from the Commander's overpowering presence.

"I'm glad to hear it. Rebels are weak. There have only been a few notable exceptions..."

"Blake and his followers," Garans guessed.

"Correct. A friend of mine spent the last years of his life tracking them down, until he was court-martialled. He continued his mission even then, when he was on the run from the Federation. The last time I heard, he was killed in the Intergalactic wars."

"You're talking about Space Commander Travis." Garans' eyes were wide.

"A great man." Kentis bowed her head in reverence. "He would be pleased to know that they will soon all be dead."

"What do you mean?"

"Last reports said Avon's ship crashed on Gauda Prime. Even if any of them survived the crash to join Blake's rebel force, the entire Federation fleet will soon be in orbit about the planet. They have no ship and have nowhere to run. It will only be a matter of time before we finish them off for good." She turned a cold smile on Garans who shivered. Garans had heard of Travis, there was no one in the Federation who hadn't; a psychotic killer, dishonourably discharged, whose ruthless determination to bring down Blake was second only to the infamous President Servalan. She, like Travis, had vanished, a victim of her insatiable need to bring Blake and his followers to their knees. What Garans and most of the Federation didn't know was that Travis had not been an only child. He had never acknowledged his sister, Kentis, any more than she had acknowledged him. Physically dissimilar, their single-minded ruthlessness, cruelty, and the almost maniacal gleam radiating from their eyes were the only traits they seemed to share.

Those same eyes were now trained on Garans, looking him up and down contemptuously. After a moments scrutiny she dismissed him with a wave of her black gloved hand. With relief Garans took a step back and turning walked through a hatchway leading from the flight deck to the crew room beyond where the temperature seemed several degrees warmer. A young soldier, barely out of training, met his eyes and then looked away uncomfortably. Garans was not surprised to find he was shaking; it was not an uncommon reaction to an encounter with Kentis. With a trembling hand he slid open the panel on his wall locker and removed a long glass and a decanter of dark blue liquid. He looked at the soldier and shrugged apologetically as he unsteadily filled the glass, slopping some of the syrupy liquid over the side. Then he downed the contents in a single swallow, his body shuddering as the fiery drink burned the lining of his throat. He grimaced, wiped his mouth and poured a second.

* * *

Avon ignored the waiting Vila and Dayna. After returning his teleport bracelet to the rack in an almost throwaway gesture he strode past them without a word and disappeared in the direction of his cabin. Vila's eyes followed him as he passed, a multitude of questions dying unspoken on his lips. Whatever had happened down on Carillion had obviously affected the cold implacable core of Avon. Vila had seen the faint tremble in the fingers which had ripped the teleport bracelet from his wrist. The expression of utter desolation on Avon's normally cold visage was one he recognised. He had seen it before, just once, and had prayed never to see it again. Every instinct told him to follow Avon to his cabin, force his friend to trust him with the truth. But his feet wouldn't move and when Dayna made a move to go after Avon he put a hand on her arm, keeping her in her seat.

"Let him be," he said quietly. "You don't want to get in his way right now. Trust me."

Dayna was about to protest, but on seeing Vila's lips pressed together in a thin white line as he tried to contain his emotions the words died in her throat. Instead she nodded, gave Vila a reassuring pat on his shoulder and disappeared in the opposite direction to the corridor Avon had taken.

Vila released a low shuddering breath. Avon was back and he was safe, physically at least. But the man who had passed him a moment ago was not the Avon who had teleported down to the planet's surface. He was the Avon of four years ago, the Avon whose world had fallen apart on a sad little moon, the Avon who had turned on the Universe with a ferocity that made Vila shudder to remember. The last time, Avon had thrown himself into his quest for vengeance, but with the object of his vengeance dead who would he turn on this time? With a slow sinking certainty Vila knew that this time there would be no-one to save Avon from himself.

Avon kept his eyes forward, not daring to look at Vila's white pinched face or Dayna's barely suppressed fury. They both wanted answers, different answers to questions they were entitled to ask. Vila especially deserved to know the truth, to know what had passed between Rhiannon and himself. He knew the thief would be hurt, despite his assurances that he wanted Avon to have the kind of relationship he wasn't capable of providing, but he would understand. And despite the hurt he wouldn't begrudge Avon the one stolen moment of happiness.

But as much as he knew they deserved the answers they sought, he couldn't give them now. Not while the tangle of emotions, love, hate and hopelessness, raged close to the surface, beyond his control. If he opened his mouth now all that would come out would be a scream. So, fists clenched, lips pressed together, the muscle in his cheek working frantically, he stalked past them towards his cabin. He kept walking until he was sure he was out of sight and earshot of the teleport and then sagged against the wall of the corridor, his knees collapsing beneath him, his body shaking violently as though he were in shock. He had never been so out of control. The scream he had been fighting so hard to suppress rose in his throat, choking him. What was wrong with him? Barely two days ago the thought of what he had to do had hardly troubled him, his mind had been clear, his path certain, and emotion? Emotion had been buried deep, locked away where it could do no harm. But now? Now he was afraid.

"New orbit achieved." Soolin's voice rang through the corridor, shocking him out of his thoughts. He frowned. Why had they adopted a new orbit? He had allowed himself to become distracted. Being distracted got you killed; got Rhiannon killed; got Vila killed. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted anymore.

Standing straight and closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, forcing his pulse to slow, his thoughts to become calm. Once, a long time ago, Cally had taught him some mind calming techniques. They had worked then, allowing him to function like the Avon the crew expected.

Keeping his eyes closed he visualised each of the thoughts that conjured the fear: Rhiannon, eyes wide with fear, as Kieren aimed a gun at her heart; Vila's small stoic smile as he realised his fate; Tarrant's body sprawled on the ground. As each one passed before his eyes he channelled the thought into the cold inkiness of the void which occupied the back of his mind. Safely locked away. Finally only one thought remained, shining and bright, filling his mind with cold purpose. Servalan had to pay, and soon.

Steeling his features back into the cool mask of urbanity he pushed off the wall. Shoulders squared and head erect, he covered the remaining distance to the cabin in less than a minute, his stride filled with determination. Inputting his personal code on the keypad, he stood motionless as the door slid open with a soft hiss. Avon stepped inside and the door returned to its place with a hollow clang.

"Where the hell have you been?" Servalan spat, her voice tinged with frustration as she pushed herself up from the bed on which she had been reclining.

"Clearing up your mess," Avon replied flatly, devoid of any emotion. "Your spy's plan to take over Carillion failed miserably. The rebels were better equipped and stronger than he anticipated. Orac has managed to prevent word of the failure reaching any Federation ears. It was badly planned and even more badly managed. Servalan, you should choose your lackeys with more care. Then again, it has always been a failing of yours, hasn't it? Putting your trust in the wrong people. All that was achieved was the extermination of a platoon of Federation troops and the unnecessary death of one of my crew. Carillion is still in the hands of the ruling family."

"Ahhh, so the little princess survived, did she? A pity. Still, she's a child. What does she know about ruling a kingdom? Once we are in power, Carillion will be easy pickings." Servalan's smile turned sly. "And one of your crew dead? Please tell me that drab little thief Vila has been put out of his misery." She looked at Avon from beneath her long eyelashes. "He was always beneath you, you know. I did him, and you, a favour."

Avon ignored the familiar surge of rage that swept through him, forcing his hands, so eager to strike her, to remain loose and unthreatening by his side.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Servalan, but Vila is alive and well."

Servalan made a moue of disappointment and shrugged. "No matter. He is hardly a threat to our plans." She paused. "Why is the death of one of the crew a concern to you? Their lives can hardly be important to us, once we take control."

"Once we take control, certainly." Avon nodded slowly. "However, until then, they are still useful to me, if only to pilot the ship. I can't fly the _Liberator_ alone, especially if we have to engage the Federation fleet." Servalan looked as if she were about to argue but Avon waved her to silence. "You can't fly this ship, Servalan. You've only tried to fly her once, if I recall correctly, and she blew up in your face."

Servalan had the grace to look embarrassed and smiled coyly. "You do have a point there," she conceded. "All right, I'll agree that we need them for the moment. You still haven't told me who died?"

"You really want to know?" Avon said shortly, his tone almost incredulous. Servalan inclined her head to indicate her assent. "Tarrant," Avon said heavily. "Your spy Kieren murdered him. I repaid the favour.

Servalan's face showed a fleeting expression of sadness and remorse but, a second later, the smug smile was back in place, although her eyes remained dim. "I'm sure you did. A pity. Del Tarrant was an interesting man...almost as interesting as you. I would have preferred it to be one of the others. Dayna perhaps, or that blond one."

"Ahh, of course. You had a brief... encounter... with Tarrant, didn't you? On Virn. I had forgotten," Avon commented slickly. "He knew you even better than I do." His smile was wide, almost a sneer, his teeth showing between his lips.

Servalan smiled suggestively, "We can remedy that situation, if you would like?"

Avon allowed his gaze to travel up and down Servalan's lithe form, as if considering her offer, then deliberately turned away from her towards the door.

"Later Servalan. I don't have the time. Besides, it would be too distracting," he said huskily, hating every word which crossed his lips. "I'll be back in four hours. There is some food in the locker over there if you get hungry."

Servalan glared at him. "You could have told me earlier. I'm starving."

"Abstinence is good for the soul," Avon replied mockingly. "If you had one."

Stung, she turned her back to him and it wasn't until she heard the door shut behind him that she turned around, her gaze resting longingly on the metal panel.

* * *

The corridor outside Avon's cabin was thankfully empty. In truth Avon had half expected to find Vila skulking around somewhere outside. Maybe his plan to keep the thief at arm's length was finally taking effect. Avon couldn't help the tight band of regret that the possible loss of his friend caused in his chest. Pushing the feeling into the void to join the other battling emotions, Avon quickly made his way to the store room where Orac was hidden. Securing the door behind him, he lifted Orac down from his hiding place.

"Orac. Contact Blake, secure channel."

"COMMUNICATION WITH BLAKE CANNOT BE CARRIED OUT AT THIS TIME," Orac informed him, almost apologetically.

"Why?" Avon barked impatiently. "What's been going on in my absence?"

"THE TRANSPORT CONVOY WILL ACHEIVE ORBIT AROUND CARILLION IN THREE HOURS. THE ORBITAL POSITION WHICH THE _Liberator_ NOW MAINTAINS IN ORDER TO AVOID DETECTION PRECLUDES EXTERNAL MESSAGES TO GAUDA PRIME. ANY MESSAGE SENT FROM THE _Liberator_ WILL BETRAY THE SOURCE OF ORIGIN," Orac explained.

"When is the earliest transmission time which will not jeopardize the _Liberator_?" Avon queried.

"APPROXIMATELY TWO HOURS FOLLOWING CONVOY DEPARTURE FROM ORBIT."

Avon stroked his chin with two fingers of one hand, thinking carefully. It could still work, there was still time. In fact it might be better this way. Less chance of anyone working out what he was planning, and even less time to do anything about it.

"Fine." Avon bent his head conspiratorially over the perspex box and began to dictate instructions into the computer. "Listen to me, Orac. Priority code Alpha-Alpha-One-Stroke-Gamma-Two. No countermand without correct personal code sequence and matching voiceprint. Here are your instructions. Fours hours after the _Liberator_ departs from Carillion, transmit the following instructions to the on-board primary function computer..."

* * *

Vila's eyes flickered nervously over the scanners. The spherical mass of Carillion seemed a very small shield to hide behind. The calculations given by Orac on the console before him outlined a tiny window of safety. If the _Liberator_ veered out of position by even a thousandth of a spacial they would be in full view of the approaching Federation fleet. He quickly cast a glance at Soolin and Dayna on either side of him. Although outwardly they appeared calm and unconcerned, the tenseness in Dayna's slender frame and the almost obsessive checking of the controls at Soolin's fingertips betrayed their fear.

"The fleet is making orbit at one thousand spacials. They don't seem to know we are here," Dayna said after some minutes, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Not that that is any real indication. It wouldn't be the first time they had played the waiting game with us. Orac, can you monitor their transmissions?"

"I HAVE BEEN DOING SO FOR SOME TIME. THERE HAVE BEEN NO TRANSMISSIONS TO SUGGEST THAT OUR PRESENCE HAS BEEN DETECTED. TRANSMISSIONS FROM THE PLANET'S SURFACE APPEAR TO HAVE CONVINCED THEM THAT THE FEDERATION TAKEOVER WAS A SUCCESS. THE FIRST CARGO SHUTTLE WILL DOCK IN THREE MINUTES." Although Orac had answered immediately, Dayna had the curious feeling that the machine had almost been caught off-guard. She was sure it had something to do with Avon and his mysterious disappearance into the depths of the ship. Despite Vila's earlier warning, her curiosity and her desire to get some real answers overcame her and she got to feet, intent on searching the ship. She had only made it as far as the flight of stairs when Avon swept down past her, pushing her unceremoniously to one side. Giving an indignant cry of annoyance she turned and glared at Avon. The glare was wasted; his back was to her, his head bent over the scanner display.

"How long before the fleet is ready to break orbit?" he asked sharply.

"About four hours," Soolin replied. "The sooner the better."

"Good. Orac, since we are in a blind spot on their scanners, I presume that some of them are in our blind spot. Can you estimate how many ships we cannot keep under surveillance whilst in this orbit?"

"THERE IS NO NEED TO ESTIMATE," Orac answered huffily. "THERE ARE THREE SHIPS CURRENTLY LOCATED IN THE BLIND SPOT. GIVEN THE COMPLEMENT OF SHIPS WHICH APPROACHED THE PLANET, THEY CAN BE IDENTIFIED AS ONE CARGO SHIP AND TWO FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS."

"Monitor the borders of the blind spot. I want to know if anything goes in or out of that spot. Also, continue to block long range transmissions until further notice."

Dayna, who had returned to her seat, looked at Avon, her expression puzzled. "Why do we need to block the long range transmissions? They're convinced the Federation are in control down there."

"It only takes one suspicious Federation officer to blow the whole setup. Do you want to take that chance?" Avon said cuttingly, directing a piercing glance in Dayna's direction.

The glance hit home and she shivered inwardly, but it didn't prevent her from asking, "What are you up to Avon? What are you keeping from us? You are going to have to tell us sometime."

This time the eyes Avon turned to her were black, almost inhuman. His voice was completely emotionless. "I don't have to tell you anything. Any of you. Just do what you are told and keep your mouths shut. Whilst your presence is useful, it is not essential. I will not tolerate any interference in my plans. From any of you." At the last sentence he allowed his eyes to rest on each of them in turn, lingering finally on Vila, who was regarding him with frank dismay. Avon let his hand fall to the pulse pistol holstered at his side, resting it on the butt of gun. The movement was almost casual, but the intent was clear. Giving each of them a last quelling stare, he turned and disappeared the way he had come.

Soolin shook her head. "He's mad," she muttered disbelievingly. "He's finally gone insane. Vila, you have to do something. He'll kill us all."

Vila leant back against the seat rest. "Probably, if you stay. You should get away from him as soon as you can."

Soolin looked at him curiously. "You won't go though, will you? You'll stay. Even if it means he kills you."

Vila just turned away.

* * *

Kentis examined the scanner display before her thoughtfully, her computer-like intellect making a thousand calculations in her head. Finally she caught the attention of one of the mutoids piloting the ship.

"From the scanner I see there is an area at the far side of the planet which is not under surveillance. Is the area large enough to hide a ship?"

"A pursuit ship could remain hidden without difficulty," the mutoid replied after examining the console for several seconds. Its voice was a monotone with no trace of human emotion present. "It is theoretically possible that a larger ship could remain hidden. However, a very precise orbital position would need to be maintained. In addition, the overlapping detection grids from the scanners of the other ships in orbit substantially reduces the blind area. Thus any hidden ship would need to know both the precise positions of every ship in orbit and their scanner capabilities in order to calculate the safe area. The calculations required to maintain a ship in such a position for any length of time is beyond the capabilities of present technology."

"Federation technology," Kentis corrected coolly.

For a moment the mutoid looked almost uncomfortable despite its nature, then it nodded. "I stand corrected," it assented.

Kentis pursed her lips and looked this time at the main screen in front of her. The horizon of the planet curved out of sight, active weather systems swirling in a grey and white turbulent mass, occasionally revealing the mottled green and brown surface of the planet surface below. Kentis was more interested in the space which stretched across the top half of the screen, dotted in the near distance with the flashing lights of cargo ships, and beyond with the pale flickering light of a million stars. As she watched, a thin calculating smile spread across her face, her eyes lighting up, glittering with purpose. Turning away from the screen she walked through the arch, out of the flight deck and into the rec room beyond. Garans sat on a bunk, reading a report which scrolled across a datapad in his hand. Seeing her approach, he leapt to his feet so he could meet her eyes.

"Garans," Kentis said quietly, so quietly Garans had to lean closer to hear her. "There is someone hiding out there. Someone very clever. Someone clever enough to defeat my brother." She looked Garans in the eye, ignoring his startled look as he realised who she was talking about. "Of course he was the stupid one in the family. He won't find me quite as easy to deal with."

"Who?" Garans asked cautiously, feeling that he ought to know the answer.

"Avon," Kentis replied smiling. "Kerr Avon. I don't know how he made it off Gauda Prime but he's out there. I feel it. Carillion is pivotal to the Pylene 50 programme and to maintaining Federation control. That makes Carillion a prime target for Blake and Avon. It's a clever idea. Blake lures the Federation fleet to Gauda Prime, using our dear Commissioner Sleer, and in the meantime dispatches Avon to take Carillion. I imagine the Federation coup came as quite a surprise to him. But I know he's still here, waiting to make his next move, and we are going to catch him at his own game. Garans, I want you to transmit the following to the planet surface..."

Garans listened in silence until Kentis had completed her instructions, then he returned to the flight deck, leaving her standing alone. He passed on Kentis' instructions to the mutoid sat motionless before the communications console.

The mutoid listened in silence and then, flicking a switch, began to speak, its voice, like the others, a monotone. "Carillion control, this is Federation One. We are requesting permission to land to make repairs to our starboard engines..."

* * *

"THE LOADING OF THE NAROX HAS BEEN COMPLETED. THE FEDERATION FLEET IS PREPARING TO BREAK ORBIT."

At Orac's announcement, Avon's eyes flickered open. After leaving the flight deck he had bolted to one of the unoccupied cabins, craving solitude. Locking the door securely behind him, he had sunk down on one of the bunks, staring unseeing at the wall, his thoughts in chaos. How close had he come to completely losing his mind back there? It had taken every ounce of willpower and what little sanity he still possessed not to take his gun from its holster and mow down every living thing in the room. Even Vila would not have been exempt. The desire to remove any remaining obstacles to his plan had been almost overwhelming. No, it had been more than that. It was the desire to remove any witnesses to his descent into total madness, any mouth that might be the voice of reason he could not ignore.

He had to hold on, just for a few more hours. Then he could allow the madness to claim him. _Just a few more hours...just a few more hours..._ He had repeated the mantra in his mind over and over again until he had fallen into an uneasy sleep.

Now he looked around him confusedly at the empty cabin, the memories of the previous day still hazy. As each recollection fell into place he could feel the weight of oppression on his shoulders. It was time. Wearily he pulled himself to his feet and made his way back to the flight deck.

As he descended the stairs, he noticed that Dayna, Soolin and Vila were still there, Dayna and Soolin now dozing uncomfortably at their stations whilst Vila was predictably sprawled out across the white sofa. It seemed that they preferred the dubious company on the flight deck over the solitude of their cabins. Or maybe it was just that they felt there was safety in numbers. Even as they slept Avon could sense the tension in the air. Each of them knew, like Avon, that the end was coming, one way or another. Unlike Avon, they didn't know what their own futures would hold. Avon quickly took up position at his station, checking the scanners with a calculating eye. The green images on the screen told him that the Federation fleet was indeed moving away from the planet. In just a few hours time the _Liberator_ too would be leaving.

"Orac, are all the ships which arrived accounted for?" Avon asked loudly. At the sound of his voice the others began to stir. Before Orac could reply, Soolin and Dayna were alert, exchanging glances as they tried to determine what kind of mood Avon was in. Only Vila slept on undisturbed. Dayna looked to Avon.

"Wake him up," he said tersely. Dayna tensed at his tone, last night's fear returning to her eyes, and with visible effort Avon forced himself to say in a more amused tone, "Wake-up call No. 3, I think."

With a tentative relieved smile, Dayna leant over the front of her console until her head was positioned just above Vila's untidy brown hair. Casting a look backwards in Avon's direction, she put her mouth to Vila's ear. "Plasma bolt launched, ten seconds to impact," she shouted.

Vila shot upright, barely missing Dayna's head, leapt to his feet and sprinted round to his console to activate the force wall. Only as he turned to confirm activation of the force wall with Avon did he become aware of Dayna and Soolin's laughter and Avon's level gaze. He scowled.

"I don't think I've ever seen you move that fast before, Vila," Dayna laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"No, and you won't again. That was a rotten trick. I was just in the middle of this fabulous dream, just me and a dozen dancing girls on a deserted planet. Heaven," Vila moaned, his eyes wistful.

Avon snorted. "They would wear you out in less than a week," he said mockingly, but his eyes were smiling.

"Maybe," Vila admitted after a moment's reflection, giving Avon a cheeky grin. "But what a week it would be."

Dayna chuckled and looked at Soolin, who merely rolled her eyes in response. Avon allowed himself a small smile. It had been a long time since he had seen that insolent expression on Vila's face and he had to admit, as much as it infuriated him, he had missed it.

"IF YOU HAVE FINISHED WITH YOUR JUVENILE ANTICS," Orac interrupted after several attempts to answer Avon's query without success, "YOU MAY BE INTERESTED TO KNOW THAT ONE OF THE FEDERATION SHIPS CANNOT BE ACCOUNTED FOR."

Avon's face immediately darkened, all traces of levity vanishing. "Are you telling me one of the ships has just disappeared? Where is it?"

"I DID NOT SAY THAT THE SHIP HAD DISAPPEARED, MERELY THAT IT COULD NOT BE ACCOUNTED FOR IN THE DEPARTING FLEET. PLEASE LISTEN MORE CAREFULLY IF YOU WISH TO AVOID COMING TO ERRONEOUS CONCLUSIONS. IF YOU HAD ALLOWED ME TO FINISH I WOULD HAVE CONTINUED THAT TRANSMISSIONS TO THE PLANET INCLUDED A REQUEST TO THE FEDERATION BASE ON THE SURFACE FOR ONE OF THE ESCORTING FEDERATION PURSUIT SHIPS TO DOCK FOR URGENT REPAIRS," Orac replied calmly, but with an undeniable underlying air of smugness.

"Was permission granted?"

"APPEARENCES WOULD WARRANT THAT CONCLUSION. ALTHOUGH THE REPLY FROM THE PLANET COULD NOT BE MONITORED DUE TO CONTINUED INTERFERENCE AND OUR RELATIVE POSITION TO THE BASE, A MESSAGE CONFIRMING LANDING COORDINATES WAS TRANSMITTED FROM THE PURSUIT SHIP. THERE WAS ALSO NO INDICATION THAT THE FEDERATION OFFICIALS ON CARILLION HAVE ANY IDEA THAT THE TAKEOVER ATTEMPT FAILED, IF THEY KNEW IT TOOK PLACE AT ALL. THE FEDERATION OCCUPYING THE SURFACE BASE ARE MERELY TOKEN DIPLOMATIC ENVOYS AND ARE NO THREAT TO OUR OPERATION."

"Can you identify the particular ship?"

"NO. THE SHIP APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF THOSE HIDDEN IN THE UNSCANNABLE AREA. THERE WERE NO UNSCHEDULED MOVEMENTS BY THOSE SHIPS SCANNED."

Avon sat silently for a moment deep in thought. Around him he could hear his well laid plans crashing to the floor.

Finally he spoke, his voice harsh with worry. "You don't seem to be able to tell me very much at the moment, do you? Can you at least tell me where that ship is now? I don't relish the thought of stumbling over it taking off to catch up with the damn fleet."

"A COMMUNICATION SENT FROM A SECOND PURSUIT SHIP CONFIRMED ITS ORDERS TO LEAVE ORBIT, AND INSTRUCTIONS THAT THE CREW OF THE DAMAGED SHIP WERE TO BE PICKED UP ON THE FINAL CARGO SHIP FOR TRANSPORT BACK TO THE FLEET. ONE MUTOID IS TO BE LEFT BEHIND WITH THE SHIP UNTIL REPAIRS CAN BE COMPLETED."

"That's all right then," Vila said brightly. "A grounded pursuit ship is not much of a threat."

"I don't understand," Soolin said. "Why leave only one mutoid on board? Wouldn't the whole crew stay until repairs are completed?"

"Maybe they are needed elsewhere," Dayna said accusingly, turning to Avon. "I know you don't think we don't have any right to know what's going on, Avon, but I think this might be something we actually need to know, don't you?"

Avon's expression became guarded. Dayna was right, of course. Telling them about the fleet's call to Gauda Prime wouldn't jeopardise his other plans. He shrugged unconcernedly. "All right, if you are so eager to know, I expect they are on their way to Gauda Prime, to rescue their beloved Commissioner Sleer. It was only a matter of time until someone figured out that Servalan was missing, and Gauda Prime will be the first place they will look. After all, they know Blake is there."

Vila looked at him in confusion, "Who told them she was there?" Avon almost groaned in exasperation. The question was unbelievably stupid, even for Vila.

"She did, of course. Do you think she will have gone off to catch the Federation's number one enemy without leaving information about where she has gone?" he said scathingly. Technically it wasn't a lie, just a misrepresentation of the truth. Vila coloured.

"Shouldn't we go and help Blake then?" Soolin asked. "Everything is under control here, the Narox is on its way and everybody has their orders."

Avon almost smiled. Unwittingly Soolin had provided him with the perfect way of getting them off the ship.

"Blake knows they're coming," Avon said. "When the fleet is out of detector range, I will take the _Liberator_ directly to Gauda Prime. I should reach the planet well before the Federation can attack. You are to stay here. I'll teleport you down to the planet and you will go on to your assigned planets from there."

"And just who is going to fly the _Liberator_? You can't do it alone," Dayna pointed out angrily.

"Orac will be sufficient until I reach Gauda Prime. Then I can teleport up a crew to help me fight the Federation fleet."

"It will be a suicide mission!" she retorted. "You need us, Avon. We know how to fly this ship in battle. They won't!"

Avon stood up and prepared to leave. "Blake needs you here. Remember, I don't need any of you and I never have," he stated flatly as he once more disappeared up the steps and out of sight.

Vila looked at the space where only seconds before Avon had stood, another seemingly insignificant snippet of information tugging at his thoughts. After a moment his eyes shot up to the stairwell and he smothered a gasp of dismay. He had a very good idea what Avon was planning, he just wasn't quite sure if he believed it yet. He had to know for sure. Vila slipped out from behind his console and climbed the stairs. With a surreptitious glance around the room to make sure he wasn't followed, he disappeared into the corridor beyond.


	15. The Beginning Of The End

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. A case of life getting in the way of literature once again. (Not that I'm suggesting this is even close to literature...)**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_The Beginning of the End._

Avon returned to the storeroom where Orac was hidden, his anger making his movements jerky, almost puppet-like. He forced himself to relax. Now wasn't the time. Soon, sooner than he cared to think about, he was going to have a lot of time to analyse his actions.

The metal door of the storeroom slid back with a low hiss. Avon ducked through the archway and closed it securely behind him. Deftly removing the panel which hid the glowing perspex box, he carefully lifted Orac down from the dark recess and placed it on a bench directly below the panel.

"Orac, contact Blake. And don't tell me it isn't possible."

"OF COURSE IT IS POSSIBLE," Orac snapped indignantly. "THE FLEET HAS NOW EXCEEDED IMMEDIATE DETECTION RANGE. INTERFERENCE WILL NOW ONLY PRESENT A MINOR PROBLEM IN CONTACTING THE SURFACE OF CARILLION. PLEASE WAIT." Avon sighed wearily and perched himself on the bench next to Orac as the computer's hum rose in pitch.

After several moments Blake's voice filled the cabin. "What is it Avon? We are a little busy down here." In the background Avon could hear the muffled sounds of shouted commands and the echoes of klaxons and alarms.

"I thought you would like to know that the Narox is on its way," Avon replied dryly. "Once the transport convoy is out of scanner range I can bring the _Liberator_ to Gauda Prime. Do you think you can hold out for another twenty four hours?"

"We don't exactly have much choice," Blake snapped. Then, collecting himself, he added mildly, "The _Liberator_ has to be in position in exactly twenty four hours and sixteen minutes, Avon, or this whole plan is shot to hell."

"Don't worry, I'll make it," Avon assured him coolly.

"I meant to ask, how's our guest?" Blake asked lightly, abruptly changing the subject.

Avon barked a laugh. "She looks well for a corpse. She has a bad dose of cabin fever though," he commented wryly.

Blake laughed. "She'd better get used to it. She is going to be confined for a very long time for her crimes." Avon remained silent. When he finally did speak again it was not on the subject of Servalan.

"Blake, Tarrant's dead." There was a very long silence.

"How?" Blake asked finally, his voice resigned.

"In the insurrection on Carillion. It seems he took it on himself to be a hero. Wiped out an entire squad of Federation troops practically single handed. He was killed by a Federation spy."

"I'm sorry. From the little I knew of him he seemed a brave man," Blake replied.

A surge of guilt swept through Avon, quickly turning to anger. "He was a fool and he paid for it," he retorted shortly.

"It wasn't your fault, Avon. He knew the risks involved, it was his decision," Blake reasoned. He was undeceived by Avon's anger. Clearly the young pilot's death had affected him greatly. "I take it you settled the score."

"Oh yes, I made his murderer pay," Avon murmured, then, almost to himself, he added, "One of them anyway." When Blake said nothing Avon continued, his voice devoid of any of its usual mocking undertones. "Good luck, Blake. I'll see you on Gauda Prime."

"Goodbye, Avon. Be careful," Blake replied slowly. Instinctively he knew that whatever happened in the next twenty four hours he and Avon would not meet again.

The channel went dead, the humming of Orac the only punctuation of the silence. Avon removed Orac's key. The silence became absolute. It was over.

* * *

Avon did not know how long he sat there in the quiet of the storeroom, staring into space. It was only when the door to the room slid open that he roused himself to a state approaching alertness. In the doorway, framed by the light pouring in from the corridor beyond, was Vila. In one hand he grasped one of his assortment of lock picking tools, on his face an expression of weary resignation.

"So this is where you've been hiding yourself," Vila said in sad triumph. "I'd tried every other room on the ship." Avon launched to his feet from his perch on the long bench, a fleeting look of panic crossing his face. Vila laughed bitterly and motioned for him to sit. "Don't worry, I didn't go into your cabin. I didn't need to. It's the last place you would be, given its present occupant."

Avon looked at Vila, his expression carefully neutral. "What do you mean?" he said casually, trying not to give anything away in his tone. It was possible Vila was bluffing. It wouldn't be the first time.

Vila looked behind him up and down the corridor, then took several paces into the room and closed the door behind him. He sank onto the bench beside Avon. "Don't treat me like a fool, Avon. Servalan is in there," he said harshly. "What's more, she is very much alive."

For an instant Avon almost denied it, then said, "How long have you known?"

"For definite? I didn't. I suspected there was more going on than you were letting on back on Carillion, but I couldn't put my finger on it. And then earlier, on the flight deck when you were so insanely determined to get us off the ship, things suddenly started to make sense. Why, even though the focus of your revenge was supposedly gone, you still had the same drive to make the Universe pay. Why you had been so reticent to let anyone near your cabin, let alone in it. And then I realised what I'd been missing on Carillion. I'd been so caught up with the idea that it was all over as far as she was concerned, and then with what was going on with you and Rhiannon that I'd ignored the obvious. It was all too easy, too... I don't know...ordinary. Given how long you'd been waiting for the opportunity to dispense justice... Well, she means too much for you to just dismiss her death so casually."

"I hate her," Avon protested. How could Vila think that his feelings for her were anything more than cold loathing?

"I know," Vila reassured him, though his brown eyes were dark with the hurt of betrayal. "I don't doubt that. But why did you lie _to me_? That's what I can't understand. After what she did, how could you lie _to me_ about killing her?"

For a brief moment Avon toyed with the idea of just walking away, leaving Vila with his unanswered questions. Surely by rejecting him now, he could secure the thief's disgust, easing the pain of their inevitable parting. But he couldn't. Back on Carillion he had sworn to himself that he would tell Rhiannon and Vila how he felt. He had kept his promise to Rhiannon, now he had to do the same for Vila...however much it cost him.

"I'm sorry." He lifted one hand and touched Vila's cheek hesitantly. "I shouldn't have lied to you, but I needed everyone to believe she was dead. I thought...well, I thought it would be easier if you believed it too. You could stop looking over your shoulder all the time; you could get on with your life."

Vila sighed, raising his hand and covering Avon's.

"Why do you always think you have to do this on your own? We've always been in this together, right from day one. You should have trusted me to help you."

Avon pulled his hand away sharply.

"No. This is my problem...she is my problem. If it hadn't been for your relationship with me she would never have touched you. You would have been unimportant to her. What she did to you was an attack on me. I have to finish it, alone. I'm sorry, Vila, but I can't let you be involved in this. I've ruined your life enough already."

Vila let out a long slow breath, trying to ease the band of hurt which had clamped about his chest at Avon's words. He slid off the bench and leant against the opposite wall of the store room.

Avon felt every centimetre of the distance between them.

"I'll always love you," he said softly, not wanting his last private words with Vila to be in anger. "Nothing she can do or say will change that. You know that."

Vila's answering smile was twisted and immeasurably sad.

"I know. She thought she would split us up doing what she did. She couldn't have been more wrong. Instead it's you, you and that damned pride of yours." Avon looked taken aback, his mouth opening to utter a denial before he closed it again, his shoulders slumping fractionally. Vila chuckled bleakly, "Of course it's one of the things that made you so damned attractive in the first place." He lifted pleading eyes to meet Avon's. "Just promise me that you won't lie to me again, for however long we have left. Be honest with me, Kerr. I deserve that."

Avon nodded. "What do you want to know?"

"You're taking Servalan to Gauda Prime, aren't you? Somehow you've convinced her that you've changed sides, that she can help you destroy Blake. But instead you're going to use her to bring down the Federation."

Avon nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. As usual Vila had managed to figure out the whole; well, almost the whole. He prayed Vila wouldn't make the final leap in his reasoning, because then the thief would never let him go.

"It's a clever trick, if you can pull it off," Vila finished. "It's obvious now why you don't want Dayna and Soolin on the ship. But I could go, Kerr, I can watch your back. It's a long way back to Gauda Prime."

Avon knew that that was going to be Vila's argument and he smiled. "Nice try, Vila, but I need you to stay here. I have a job for you. I need you to look after Orac."

Vila coughed in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Avon's mouth curved in a wry smile. "You're the only person I trust to look after it. Orac is too valuable to risk it falling into Federation hands. If I take it to Gauda Prime there's a risk, albeit a small one, that that could happen. I want you to keep it here on Carillion until Blake has won."

Vila frowned. "How will you fly the _Liberator_?"

"Orac can control her from Carillion. Before the _Liberator_ leaves, teleport Orac down to Carillion and hide him. If mine and Blake's plan should fail, you must make everyone believe Orac has been destroyed. If Blake succeeds, take Orac to him. He is going to need the help. And Vila..." Avon finished looking Vila straight in the eye, his gaze steady, "don't lose it."

Vila flushed an unfetching shade of puce and stammered, "A...as if I would."

"Make sure you don't. I get the feeling Blake would not be pleased. Neither would I."

There was a beat of silence.

"How long have we got?" Vila's voice was suddenly small and tremulous.

"Less than an hour," Avon said heavily.

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?"

"Of course you will," Avon tried to inject some certainty into his words but knew it was a vain attempt.

"You promised you weren't going to lie to me again, Kerr. Still, I appreciate the sentiment." His voice caught on the last word. "I wish I could kiss you goodbye..."

Avon crossed the storeroom in a single stride, pulling the Delta into a tight hug. He buried his face into Vila's hair, pressing kisses and muttering soft words into the soft dark strands. He felt Vila's arms close about him, squeezing tightly, hanging onto his shoulders as though Avon were a life preserver and he a drowning man. After several moments Avon felt Vila's lips find the soft skin exposed at the base of his neck, bestowing earnest but chaste kisses. Protecting him, even in his own despair.

"THE TRANSPORT CONVOY IS NOW OUT OF SCANNER RANGE." Orac's voice rang ear-shatteringly through the tiny room.

Avon lifted his head. Vila leant against him, unwilling to break this last, final contact with the man he had loved for so long. Finally he raised his face to look into Avon's. He could see his own love and pain mirrored in Avon's almost black orbs.

"Time to go," Avon said simply. And then he leaned forward and kissed Vila lightly on the lips.

Vila jerked back, breaking the contact. "You shouldn't have done that. What if...?"

Avon shrugged. "I don't care. I'm not going to let her stop me this time."

With a deep breath Vila returned the kiss, although his touch was so brief Avon almost thought he imagined it. Vila had always protected him, watched his back, put Avon first, no matter the cost to himself. His selfish persona was and always had been an illusion. The crew had always believed what they wanted to believe, never noticing that the incessant whining, complaining and declarations of fear had never prevented Vila from doing what Avon needed him to do. Avon had known for a long time that Vila was the bravest man he knew, because he was scared and did what was asked anyway, but only now did he realise that Vila's fear had rarely been for himself. It had always and ever been for Avon.

"I'm going to miss you, Kerr," Vila said, breaking into Avon's troubled thoughts. He flashed a brave smile.

"You've never called me Kerr, not in all the time I've known you, and now you've done it four times in as many minutes," Avon said softly. "Why now?"

Vila's face crumpled, all his bravado vanishing in an instant. "Because I'm never going to have the chance again. Everyone calls you Avon. The man known as Avon belongs to them. Kerr belongs to me. In my head when we were together, you were Kerr, always just Kerr. Kerr is the man I have loved since the day we met. Kerr is the man I followed all these years. Kerr is the man I'm losing."

There was a heavy silence. Avon couldn't speak. A thousand words died in his throat. He was losing something infinitely precious for the second time that day and there were no words that would make it all right.

Shaking, Vila stepped aside, out of Avon's embrace, and opened the door to the storeroom. He paused on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder at silent statue of Avon and said softly, his voice shaking with tears, "Goodbye, Kerr."

On Carillion leaving Rhiannon had fractured Avon's carefully protected heart into pieces. Vila leaving him now had taken those pieces and shattered them into dust.

* * *

When Vila returned to the flight deck a minute later, not a trace of emotion was visible on his face. If Dayna had not been carefully studying the scanner and Soolin methodically checking the readings from the engines they might have noticed his stooped gait or the tremor in shoulders, more common in a man who had lived eighty years. Or they might have noticed that Avon, following Vila down the stairs a moment later, was pale and also shaking, clasping his arms about his body as though they were the only things keeping him upright. They would certainly have noticed that neither man could bear to look at the other, and yet couldn't seem to stop, their eyes scanning the room almost aimlessly, meeting and then falling away to look at the floor.

But neither girl raised her eyes and so the sight of Vila and Avon taking their final steps into hell went unnoticed by all.

"Now that you've deigned to join us, it's time we made our move," Dayna commented tartly, acknowledging their presence for the first time. "The fleet have been out of scanner range for nearly ten minutes. Orac says it is safe for us to move back into position."

Avon sat behind his console, leaning against the chair back, grateful for its support. He fixed his eyes on the display in front of him, trying not to notice as Vila shuffled past him, the thief's eyes fixed resolutely ahead. With unsteady fingers he keyed in the calculations required for the orbit adjustment and then, clearing his throat, said in a low voice which he prayed sounded calm, "Go ahead. We need to reposition directly over the complex. Orac says there may still be some disruption to our comms with the planet.

Dayna grasped the manual controls and began to manoeuvring the ship out from the blind side of Carillion and back over the underground complex. Avon watched the empty screen in front of him, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly standing on end. There was something not quite right. Maybe his unease was the aftermath of his emotional meeting with Vila. Maybe it was knowing that his revenge on Servalan was so near now he could almost taste it. Despite his reason telling him that it was just his imagination, his intuition told him otherwise.

The silver-grey hull of the _Liberator_ glinted in the light of Carillion's single sun, copper panels reflecting burnished gold as the three outer prongs of the ship turned gently under the power of the thrusters, the green orb at its stern pulsing gently as the energy flowed through it. Slowly she began to move forward towards the far side of the planet, disappearing from sight around the seemingly perfect curve of the horizon.

* * *

Vila checked the scanners again, blinking in disbelief at what it was showing him. It couldn't be true. Suddenly a detector on his left flashed red in warning; the cry that followed was ripped from him. The warning had come too late.

"Plasma bolt launched. Zero-five-seven. Two seconds to impact."

Avon, Dayna and Soolin turned as one and looked at him in horror. Dayna dived for the force wall control, but even as her fingers reached the red button a massive explosion rocked the ship, sending her crashing to the floor at the side of her console.

"Orac, damage?" Avon shouted, his voice hoarse. Before Orac could reply, the ship was rocked by another explosion. Avon reeled, clutching at the sides of his chair for support.

"Dayna, get that force wall up! Vila, where in hell are they coming from?"

Dayna clambered to her feet unsteadily, swaying as she reached across her console, slamming her palm on the force wall activator.

"A Federation pursuit ship. It was waiting for us," Vila cried, stabbing frenziedly at the controls. "I thought they were supposed to have gone."

"They were," Avon said tersely. "Orac, damage, dammit!" he repeated. Again the ship was rocked by an explosion, violent, but thankfully reduced in intensity as the force wall cushioned the impact.

"THE SHIP HAS SUSTAINED DAMAGE TO SEVERAL SYSTEMS. LONG RANGE SCANNERS AND VISUALS ARE NOT FUNCTIONING. STRUCTURAL DAMAGE IS SLIGHT BUT WILL PREVENT SPEED ABOVE STANDARD BY THREE," Orac replied. "I ESTIMATE FOURTEEN MINUTES BEFORE AUTOREPAIR CAN RESTORE FULL FUNCTION,"

Avon swore. "They will have finished us off by then. Dayna, can we manoeuvre round to face them? We're a sitting target here."

"It'll take a minute." She grabbed the flight controls and began to wrestle the sluggish, damaged ship into a turn.

Avon swung his attention to Soolin. "Prepare the main blasters for firing. As soon as that ship comes in range, fire!"

"Two plasma bolts launched and running. Same heading. Five seconds to impact," Vila informed them, his voice shaking with fear.

"This one's going to be rough. Hang on!" Avon shouted. As one they grabbed the consoles in front of them and hung on for dear life.

* * *

"Commander Kentis. The _Liberator_ has sustained some damage. Computer predictions suggest that they are crippled, manoeuvring thrusters only," Garon informed the woman sat in front of him.

Kentis turned to look at him and smiled, her eyes flashing with eager anticipation. "I don't believe what I'm seeing," she breathed. "The _Liberator_ was destroyed. It was common knowledge. How can she be here?" She shook her head once sharply. "No matter. Continue firing until that ship is destroyed."

"As you command." Garans motioned to the mutoid beside him. Calmly, as though it were doing nothing more than switching on a light, it pressed a series of buttons which controlled the weapons systems. Garans watched in fascinated horror as three more plasma bolts sped towards the ship on the screen before him. They exploded before they reached the hull, impacting on the force field surrounding the ship. With each hit, Garans knew that force field was becoming weaker. Very soon it would fall and the ship would be entirely at their mercy.

* * *

Avon scrambled to his feet. The last impact had thrown him across the flight deck, crashing into the wall. Rubbing his bruised shoulder, he looked dazedly around him. To his right he could see Vila and Dayna also scrambling to their feet, pained expressions on their faces. Soolin was nowhere in sight. From behind the bank of computer panels surrounding the seating area he heard a low moan and, after a moment, Soolin's head appeared. A trickle of blood ran from a small cut at her hairline down her cheek. Impatiently she wiped it away with the back of her hand, leaving a livid red smear.

"Are you all right?" he asked in concern. They couldn't afford to lose a member of the crew at this stage.

Soolin waved his query away. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Just my pride getting a bashing." She felt tentatively at the wound on her forehead. "And maybe my head."

Desperately trying to keep his balance as the ship reeled from side to side in the aftermath of the explosion, he cautiously but quickly made his way back to his seat.

"Why are the blasts getting stronger?" Vila asked, his voice querulous.

"We're losing the force wall," Dayna shouted as she battled with the controls, trying to bring the ship into firing position. "We are draining power too quickly. Banks two and six are drained and the rest are only at twelve percent. I've reserved two banks so we have power to fire the neutron blasters. At this rate we will lose the force wall in two minutes and fifteen seconds. If I tap into those two reserve banks, we won't have enough energy to fire and we'll be sitting ducks."

"From where I'm sitting it already feels like we are," Vila shouted back petulantly. Avon shot him an almost amused look. Vila caught the glance and gave a half smile and a shrug that seemed to say, 'Why break the habit of a lifetime?'

"Orac, divert all available power to the force wall," Avon ordered. "Pull everything except life support, auto repair and the neutron blasters off line."

"AS YOU WISH," Orac replied smoothly, unperturbed by the turn of events. Avon found his fists clenching in anger. Sometimes the implacability of that machine was more than even he could stand.

"Three more plasma bolts launched. Five seconds to impact." Vila's voice now rose a full octave in fear. "How much more of this can we take, Avon? They are going to blow us out of the sky."

"Get a grip, Vila," Avon snapped, though the order was more aimed at himself. He had ignored his instincts and his mistake would see them all dead if he didn't figure out what to do soon. "Dayna, are we in position yet?"

"Twelve seconds." The words were almost inaudible, as she struggled to keep the ship under control. She didn't know if her arms were going to last that long.

Soolin prepared to fire, her fingers hovering nervously above the weapons console. She watched as the computerised image of a Federation pursuit ship began to take shape on the screen before her. Despite the danger they were facing, she felt the exhilaration which had been missing for so long sweep through her. If the Federation wanted a fight, she was going to give it to them. The pursuit ship seemed to take up position in the centre of the screen, sitting squarely between the fine lines which defined the target. She didn't need to wait for Dayna's confirmation of their position. With a broad smile she activated the weapons at her fingertips.

* * *

"The _Liberator_ has fired its neutron blasters," the mutoid informed Kentis and Garans calmly. "Five seconds to impact."

"Put up the shields. Continue to fire on the _Liberator_," Kentis commanded. "They will be weak. Their force field cannot remain up for much longer." Impassively she watched as the _Liberator_ was rocked by another round of plasma bolts. The _Liberator_ fired again, but the increasing intensity of the explosions, hurling the ship from side to side, sent the neutron blast spinning off course, missing the pursuit ship completely.

"You are mine, Avon," Kentis breathed, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Travis has his revenge at last. The debt is almost paid, brother."

* * *

"Avon, the plasma bolts are beginning to get through the force wall. It's so weak now it might as well not be there. If we don't do something quickly, we will be destroyed," Dayna said desperately, her voice shaking with panic. "Do something!"

"What do you suggest? Ask them nicely to stop?" Avon retorted.

"You know, Avon, that's not a bad idea," Vila said thoughtfully. "Orac can be very persuasive."

"That's it, Vila. You're a genius." He gave Vila a wide grin. The thief bowed slightly in acknowledgement, smiling back. Avon felt his chest ease. Now that he knew what to do, he was in control once more. "Hold them off as long as you can," he ordered. "Dayna, the auto-repair should have done enough to give us some manoeuvring capacity. Give them a moving target."

With that, he ran up the stairs two at a time and out of the flight deck.

"Two more plasma bolts coming our way. Now might be a good time to duck," Vila said, his eyes watching the scanners carefully. Dayna nodded and fired the thrusters. Slowly the ship began to move directly towards the pursuit ship before them, homing in on the plasma bolt trails. Dayna twisted the controls, sending the _Liberator_ careering to one side. The bolts flashed between two of the prongs of the ship and exploded harmlessly in space behind them.

"W...what are you doing?" Vila stammered as he pulled himself upright after the sudden manoeuvre. "When Avon said to move the ship I don't think he meant directly into the lion's mouth. Look, we've tried this before. If it didn't work then, what makes you think it will work now?"

"If we're going to die, at least we can take the bastards with us. If not, we'll give them something to think about," Dayna muttered as she twisted the controls, again sending the ship spinning. "Soolin, keep firing at them. Forget about the power drain. If Avon's plan doesn't work we're dead anyway."

* * *

A fleeting look of worry crossed Kentis' face. Against all the odds, the _Liberator_ was still there, and what is more it seemed to be attacking, heading directly for them on a reciprocal bearing to the plasma bolts launched. Resolutely she swept the doubts aside; the ship would be destroyed long before it reached them.

"Garans, prepare to launch simultaneous barrage," she ordered. The Federation's latest weapon, the simultaneous barrage, released twelve plasma bolts at the same time, followed closely by an atom destructuring device. The plasma bolts all detonated on a ship's shield at a single point, guaranteeing its collapse. The atom destructuring device then attached unnoticed to the hull of the ship and began a chain reaction which caused each atom of the ship to separate into its constituent neutrons and electrons. The effect was near instantaneous and the result was the complete destruction of the target vessel. There was no debris. There could be no survivors.

Garans turned to face his commander his expression troubled. "Ma'am. The ship is in too close proximity to us. We could be destroyed as well."

Kentis' eyes narrowed. "Are you disputing my authority, Garans?" she said smoothly, her voice almost a whisper. Garans blanched and shook his head. "Good," she continued smugly. "I'm glad to hear it. Begin the countdown. Fifteen seconds. Keep up the plasma bolt launches until the moment of firing. We don't want them to suspect anything." Turning her back on Garans and the mutoids Kentis focused on the small personal view screen in the arm of her command chair. The destruction of the _Liberator_ was a pleasure she intended to enjoy alone.

* * *

Avon took a small roll of fabric from his belt and laid it flat on the floor beside Orac - the bench was too risky - selecting two slim metal tools from one its many pockets. One in each hand he reached inside the glowing box, urgency making his movements shaky. He laid the probes back on the fabric for a moment, flexing his fingers and forcing himself to relax. The ship was shaking enough as it was and he couldn't afford to mess this up. Then picking them up once more, he lowered them into Orca's perspex casing, his hands making precise deft motions as he found what he was looking for and set to work, deep in concentration. After several long seconds during which the ship was rocked by another blast, he gave a crow of triumph as he removed a small featureless metal box and set it beside Orac.

"All right, Orac. I've removed the limiter. It's up to you now."

"Avon, this is the big one. Twelve plasma bolts launched. Five seconds to impact." Vila's voice crackled from the intercom. "There's no way we can withstand this one, so if you're going to do something now would be the time. I guess this really is goodbye." It was almost a wail.

Kneeling on the floor, with Orac humming busily at his feet, Avon closed his eyes. With a sudden flash of amusement he thought of Servalan sat waiting in his cabin, probably scared but mainly angry. Then, with a sharp twinge of pain and regret, he thought of Rhiannon waiting on the planet below, unaware of his fate. Finally he closed his eyes, fixing on an image of a thief's soft brown eyes, and at peace he waited for the end to come.

* * *

On the flight deck, Soolin watched in horror as the plasma bolts, computer generated images on the screen, sped towards the ship. Giving a last glance behind her at her comrades, who stared transfixed at their screens, she closed her eyes. At least it would be quick. With what little remained of the force wall, twelve bolts hitting simultaneously would blow them out of the sky.

Dayna braced her hands against the console, trying to prevent the trembling which had overtaken her whole body. Unable to watch the screen before her, she turned her eyes to the ceiling and fixed them on one point.

Thus it was only Vila who was witness to the event which followed. This was not due to of any form of bravery in being able to meet death head on; it was simply that he was too scared to tear his eyes away.

The plasma bolts impacted on the force wall, but the resulting explosion was merely a rumble, causing only the slightest vibration of the ship. There was a sudden flash of light on the scanner in front of Vila and the space before the ship became clear. Vila blinked and stared at the scanner screen. The pursuit ship had vanished without trace.

"Either death is a lot less painful than I was led to believe or we are still alive," he said loudly, faintly surprised that he could talk at all.

Dayna lowered her eyes and looked at the console, her eyebrows bunched in consternation. "What happened to the Federation?" she asked, bewildered.

"You tell me. One minute they were there, the next minute they had vanished."

"The answer is obvious," Avon's voice startled them and as one they turned to watch him nonchalantly stroll onto the flight deck. He was grinning and looked as though he didn't have a care in the world. As he passed Vila's console he caught Vila's eye.

Vila blinked at him, startled. Had Avon just winked at him?

"Orac, explain," Avon instructed, sinking onto the white leather sofa and spreading his arms across the seat back, one ankle resting on his knee.

"VERY WELL, ALTHOUGH I EXPECT THAT IT WILL BE BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION," Orac said smugly. "THE COMPUTER OF THE FEDERATION SHIP HAD BEEN INSTRUCTED TO FIRE AN ATOM DESTRUCTURING DEVICE AT THE _LIBERATOR_ PRECEDED BY A BARRAGE OF PLASMA BOLTS INTENDED TO DESTROY THE FORCE WALL. I SIMPLY ORDERED THE COMPUTER TO INFORM THE PURSUIT SHIP CREW THAT THE PLASMA BOLTS AND THE DEVICE HAD BEEN LAUNCHED, THEN TO DETONATE THE DEVICE WHILST STILL ON BOARD THE SHIP." If anything the voice sounded even smugger as it concluded its explanation.

"I thought you had a limiter to stop you doing that?" Vila pointed out. "In case you were captured by the Federation or an alien entity..."

"It did," Avon replied before Orac had chance to respond. "I had to remove it. That is what took me so long."

"Orac, was it necessary to make _us_ believe that the plasma bolts had been launched?" Dayna asked sharply.

"THE FEDERATION MAY HAVE BEEN MONITORING OUR SCANNERS. THE DECEPTION HAD TO BE COMPLETE. IT ALSO GAVE ME THE CHANCE TO OBSERVE HUMAN REACTIONS TO IMPENDING DEATH. IT WAS A MOST INFORMATIVE EXPERIMENT."

Dayna took a step toward the focal point of Orac's voice, the hexagon on the wall lit up with rhythmically flashing squares. "If I could lay my hands on you, Orac, you would get first hand experience of impending computer death," she shouted furiously, her fear turning to anger. "Avon, where is that box of junk?"

"Somewhere very safe," Avon said smoothly. "And let's not forget that 'box of junk' just saved all our lives. Now, if you've quite finished, I suggest we let Carillion know we are still up here. They probably think we've deserted them. Orac, can we transmit to Carillion now?"

"YES. INTERFERENCE IS NOW CLEARING. TRANSMISSIONS MAY SHOW A DEGREE OF STATIC," Orac reported.

"Fine, just as long as we can talk to them. Orac, open a channel. Carillion, this is the _Liberator_." There was a moment's hiss before the warm but anxious voice of Nagor came through,

"_Liberator,_ are you all right? We tried to contact you once the fleet was out of transmission range, but there was no reply. We were beginning to wonder if you had left orbit as well."

"We're fine. The Federation left us a calling card. It took us a while to give them the return message. Did the loading of the Narox go according to schedule?"

"Perfectly. No-one in the convoy seemed to suspect anything was wrong. All the transmissions we picked up between the surface complex and the fleet were routine. If the Federation knew you were here they must not have linked you to the Narox shipment."

"Someone in the fleet knew. They faked a damaged ship and laid in wait for us. But they can't tell anyone now. Orac made sure of that. We should still be safe." There was silence and then a bevy of muffled voices. When the reply came it was no longer Nagor,

"Avon?" the quiet voice was female, unquestionably Rhiannon.

Avon's heart sank. He had been dreading this moment, and had hoped he could avoid it. "I'm not alone," he said warningly, looking at the interested faces of Dayna and Soolin. He couldn't meet Vila's eyes but knew he was watching him, waiting for his response to whatever it was she had to say.

"I just wanted to say that I read your note and I..." The voice faltered and died. There was a moment's hiss of static before Rhiannon's voice continued. "I'm glad I met you. I won't ever regret the time we got. Please be careful. Goodbye Avon," Rhiannon's voice cracked and there was the muffled but unmistakable sound of crying.

Avon lowered his head. "Goodbye," he murmured under his breath. He knew Rhiannon would not hear him, but he didn't care. Releasing the transmission button, he got up and left the flight deck, mounting the stairs slowly, almost like an old man. Dayna and Soolin watched him leave. No-one made a move to follow him. The women glanced at each other and then at Vila, their expression one of pity. Vila held their gaze steadily until Soolin coloured and looked away. Dayna coughed and rubbed the back of her neck in a nervous gesture.

With a thin smile, Vila hurried across to the console Avon had just left and pressed the transmission button. "Sorry for the delay." He spoke briskly, trying to dispel the uncomfortable atmosphere on the flight deck. "We'll be teleporting down to Carillion in ten minutes for the next stage of the operation. _Liberator_ out." Without waiting for a reply, Vila turned away from the console and looked at Dayna and Soolin, who were now regarding him with mild astonishment.

"Don't look so surprised," he said casually. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know. Get your things together. We need to teleport in ten minutes. Take everything. It may be some time before we see this ship again." If, he added mentally, we ever see it again. Soolin and Dayna nodded and disappeared up the steps without a backwards glance.

When Vila was sure that they had gone, he took a last look around the flight deck of the _Liberator_, the closest thing he'd had to a home since he had left his mother's side. So many memories here, of Blake, of Cally, of Gan. And Kerr. It was insane; this was just a copy, a pale imitation of the original, and yet, when Orac had copied the _Liberator_'s design, it was as though he had taken a copy of the thoughts, feelings and events that had seeped into the walls, recreating them in perfect detail. This ship and the people in it had been his life for the past four years and now, one by one, they were slipping away from him.

He laid a hand on the console, his thumb brushing the smooth metallic surface in a loving caress. "Goodbye, old friend," he said softly, smiling a little at his own foolishness.

Then, with a final all encompassing sweep of his eyes and a sad smile, he turned his back on the flight deck and hurried off in the direction Avon had taken; for the most painful goodbye of all.

* * *

_**Chapter 16 - A Thief's Tale is coming soon. At last Avon and Vila's story is told...**_


	16. The Thief's Tale

******Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: The time has finally arrived to tell Avon and Vila's story. I hope it doesn't disappoint after all this waiting.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_The Thief's Tale_

Avon knew of his presence. The stiff set of the Alpha's shoulders as he stalked down the corridor towards Orac's hiding place told Vila everything he needed to know. Avon knew he would follow, knew there was more to be said. I just don't know how I'm going to able to say anything, Vila thought sadly as he trailed in Avon's wake. He swallowed, trying to dispel the sudden dryness that left his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. No words he could say would make any of this nightmare go away. He had been almost as shocked as Avon at Rhiannon's brave acceptance of his inevitable departure and her abandonment. His gaze had not flickered away from Avon for a single moment and had he'd seen the instant the last remaining flicker of life had died in Avon's eyes. The moment that any belief Avon had that what he was doing was for the best was dashed into atoms. The same moment Vila had felt the last spark of hope die in his own breast. Nothing he could do now would change Avon's course. His last hope, that Rhiannon would be reason enough to stay, was gone. The only thing that mattered to Avon now was his undying hatred for Servalan, his need for revenge, his longing for it all to end.

Vila watched silently as Avon reached up into the dark recess and for the final time pulled Orac from its hiding place in the bulkhead. With almost reverent care he set the perspex box on the bench. The gentle hum coming from the small box, which Vila had so often found irritating, now seemed to have a calming quality. A last note of normalcy in the encroaching madness. He hoped the sound was having the same effect on Avon.

"Orac, are you clear on your instructions once the _Liberator_ has left the planet?" Avon asked guardedly. Vila knew the question did not need to be asked or the answer given. It was simply an excuse for Avon to hear the indignant reply he knew he would receive. Vila found it strange that one could get as attached to this difficult lump of plastic and circuitry as Avon clearly was.

"YOUR QUESTION IS UNNECESSARY AND IRRELEVANT GIVEN YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF MY CAPABILITIES. I HAVE A FAR GREATER INTELLIGENCE THAN ANY HUMAN BEING, OR ANY COMPUTER FOR THAT MATTER," Orac said tetchily.

Avon's lips curled in something resembling a smile. "Modesty was never one of your strong points, Orac. For once just humour me."

"VERY WELL, OH GRACIOUS MASTER. I FULLY UNDERSTAND YOUR INSTRUCTIONS AND I AM READY TO EXECUTE THEM ON YOUR COMMAND SIGNAL," Orac replied, its manufactured voice dripping with almost human sarcasm.

"I see you took some lessons from Slave on how to treat your superiors, Orac," Vila interjected from the open doorway. "I really liked that computer, it knew how to treat a human being with respect." Orac's buzzing increased in intensity. If Vila didn't know any better he would have sworn the machine was angered by his comment.

"ACCORDING TO THE CURRENT CLINICAL CLASSIFICATION OF HOMO SAPIENS, VILA, YOU BARELY QUALIFY FOR INCLUSION TO THE SPECIES."

"Charming," Vila retorted breezily, then his eyes rested on Avon's face and all levity vanished in an instant. He drew a long, unsteady breath, trying to calm the sick fluttering in his chest. "Kerr, we need to talk."

Avon sighed. "I'm not sure what there is left to say. I have to leave and I won't take you with me." He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "Please don't make this any harder than it already is. I have to do this."

"I know _you_ think you have to do this but don't expect me to agree with you," Vila shot back, fear shredding his resolve not to turn their last conversation into a battle.

"Vila, did you come here just to fight?" Avon interrupted wearily. He looked intently at the thief, his eyes anguished.

Vila closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with unsteady fingers as he fought to find the words. Finally he looked up at the man in front of him, his own eyes mirroring Avon's anguish, and slowly shook his head.

"No. I came... Oh, god I don't know why I came... I just... I couldn't let you go like that. I didn't want our last words to be with everyone listening." He shrugged helplessly. "Although now we are alone I can't think of anything to say. That must be a first." The accompanying laugh sounded harsh to his own ears.

"How about that you love me and you'll miss me," Avon offered softly, grabbing Vila's wrist and pulling him into the store room so that he could close the door behind him. Vila struggled momentarily before allowing himself to be brought into a warm embrace. Closing his eyes he rested his head against Avon's chest, listening to the heavy thud of Avon's heart, and sighed.

"It's been a long time," he said, voice catching on the last word. "I've missed this." He breathed in deeply, the tang of the tannin in Avon's leather jacket overlaid with Avon's own musky scent combining in a heady mixture that reminded him painfully and wonderfully of earlier happier days, days when being in Avon's arms was as natural and necessary as breathing.

"I have too," Avon admitted. "I shouldn't have pushed you away; I let her win."

"No," Vila muttered, his face still buried in the dark supple leather. "It was me. I pushed you away. God, I practically kicked you out of the airlock I was so scared of hurting you. I'm glad you found someone else who wasn't a bloody death warrant for you."

Vila heard a sharp intake of breath as Avon pushed him away until he could look into his face. Avon's eyes were burning with disbelieving anger.

"Do you think that's what they were? Cally and Rhiannon? My way of punishing you for not being able to be what we both wanted? How could you think that? One word from you and that would have been it..."

"Don't pretend that you don't care about them!" Vila said warningly. "I'm not a fool." As he spoke he tried to pull out of Avon's now loose embrace but the arms about him tightened, refusing to release him. After a moment he ceased his efforts, standing rigid, his face angrily tilted up to Avon's. He didn't know why he was so angry. He didn't doubt that Avon would have stopped his relationship with either Cally or Rhiannon if he'd said the word. But he hadn't. He'd told himself that Avon deserved any moment of happiness he could grasp. That letting Avon go was the right thing to do. He almost scoffed out loud. How naïve had he been, how foolishly noble. Thinking that he could cope with the idea of Avon being with anyone else. He was a fool. A naïve, jealous fool.

"Of course I cared...care for them." Avon sighed, his expression softening. "But it's not the same. I don't know how to explain it." Even so he knew he had to. Vila had given up too much to be fobbed off with some trite explanation. "Cally was...comfort I guess," he began, keeping his gaze locked with the Delta's. It was important that Vila see the truth in his eyes. "She knew what we'd been through. She knew how I felt about you. I think she was just trying to keep me sane the only way she knew how. She was never under any allusions as to why we were together. And you know that." There was a touch of accusation in his tone.

Vila nodded slowly. He'd been jealous of Cally, it would be a lie to deny it, but he'd never really felt threatened by her. He known his place in Avon's affections were secure, Cally would have never tried, or wanted, to displace him. It had been cruel to throw Cally back in Avon's face. They had both loved her as a true friend.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair," he apologised finally. "What about Rhiannon?"

Avon brushed his hand back through his hair in a halting gesture that Vila recognised as a sign that he was uncomfortable with his feelings.

"Honestly? I don't know. Is it possible to love two people at the same time? I wish could say what I felt was just a passing attraction, a moment of lust and madness, but I can't. I love her, just as I love you."

Vila felt a bolus of sick fear rise in his throat. This is what he'd been afraid of. Even when he'd encouraged Avon to pursue his relationship with Rhiannon, to search for that elusive chance of happiness, he'd never really thought that Avon would fall in love with her. All or nothing, forever and always, love. That wasn't Avon's style.

"I see," Vila whispered lowering his eyes to the floor.

"No, you don't," Avon said, slowly lifting a hand to this time brush through Vila's hair. The thief recoiled a little but didn't pull away as Avon left his fingers entwined in the soft brown strands. "I need you to understand that I don't love you any less because of Rhiannon. Before, when you said you thought of me as Kerr, not Avon, it was as though you saw me as two different people. Well, Kerr loves you, Avon loves Rhiannon, and Kerr Avon loves you both. Does that make any sense?"

Now it was Avon's turn for his eyes to plead with Vila's. Vila mutely held Avon's gaze. Did he understand? Avon loved him. Wasn't that what was important? That he loved Avon and was loved in return? It wasn't as though Avon was ever going to have to choose between them. Avon was leaving in just a few short minutes and even if the Alpha decided not to follow this foolhardy mission to its inevitable conclusion, there was no way he and Avon could be together. He would have to step aside regardless of either his feelings or Avon's. And Rhiannon? She was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. A life where she would be alone and would only have the memories of one night to sustain her. In that regard he was the lucky one. He had years full of memories to keep him warm. How could he possibly remain jealous of that?

"I love you," he said at length, his mouth twisting in a rueful and apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot. Not that that's unusual. It was just an attack of the green-eyed monsters, and no, I'm not talking about that lot we met on Calpurnica." He grinned, although his lips were trembling. "I hate goodbyes."

"You'll have noticed they aren't high on my list of favourite occupations either," Avon commented dryly, trying to diffuse the emotional charge filling the small space. He surreptitiously glanced down at the chronometer on his wrist. It was time to go.

Vila saw the movement and asked heavily, "Time to go?" Avon nodded. "Well, you better tell me exactly what you want me to do before the others come looking."

Wordlessly Avon reached across Orac and took the activation key from its slot. He turned it over in his hands several times, then, almost reluctantly, handed it to Vila.

"Wait a minute..." Vila looked at the perspex key in his hand in consternation. "Won't the _Liberator_ shut down without Orac?"

"No. The life support and flight functions are run from a sub-computer which receives commands from Orac," Avon explained. "Orac doesn't need to be on the ship to do that. It doesn't even have to be in the same galaxy, for that matter. Do you understand?"

Vila deliberated for a moment. Orac was going to fly the _Liberator_ to Gauda Prime from Carillion, that much was obvious. Clearly that wasn't the only thing Avon had planned for Ensor's creation, but whatever else Avon had up his sleeve he wasn't prepared for anyone, not even Vila, to know. No doubt it involved Avon's revenge on Servalan. "Not really," he said finally, the lie tripping smoothly from his lips. "But you don't want me to, do you?" The question was rhetorical.

Avon's expression was grim.

"Vila, what I am about to tell you is very important. If you deviate from my instructions in any way, you alone will be responsible for not only my death but the failure of the rebel attack on the Federation. Do you understand that?" Vila gulped and began to choke, coughing violently. Taking that to be an affirmative Avon ploughed on. "When you get to the planet's surface I want you to take Orac to Rhiannon. When the _Liberator_ has left orbit, insert Orac's key and contact me. When I sign off, do not try to contact me again under _any_ circumstances. Servalan must not suspect that anything is wrong. Do not remove Orac's key but do not ask him anything. I have given him orders that he is not to answer any questions until Blake has either won or been defeated. If he wins, take Rhiannon and Orac to Gauda Prime, he will need Orac's assistance. If he loses..." Avon fell silent, clearly struggling to form the next sentence. Finally he said quietly, "If you can escape, then take Rhiannon with you. If it looks like you have no chance, then kill her before the Federation capture her. You know what lengths they will resort to to get information from her, especially once it's known that she and I..." Vila opened his mouth to protest but Avon silenced him with the single wave of a hand. "Please, Vila. You are the only one I trust to take care of her."

Vila's heart was pounding at the seriousness of Avon's request. Surely he was joking? He was a thief, just a Delta thief from the wrong Earth settlement. How could he protect anyone? He had enough trouble looking after himself. The thief looked more carefully at Avon; all the familiar walls and defences had gone. Before him stood a lonely, desperate man, ready for death. The sight was almost beyond bearing. Every cell in Vila's body longed to protest, to force the man before him to stay here with people who loved him, to protect them himself, but he wouldn't. Resisting Avon was like trying to stand firm before a tsunami; no matter how strong the walls, how deep the foundations, all would be swept away, destroyed by an unrelenting force of nature. If following Blake had taught him anything, it was to recognise when the battle was lost.

And so he nodded his agreement, tearing his eyes from Avon's tortured face. Avon's soft whisper of thanks was almost too quiet to be heard but to Vila it rang as harshly and loudly as a prison cell door. There was a long uneasy silence.

"Come on, Vila," Avon said finally, his voice taut. "It's time." Turning away, Avon opened the door and stepped out into the brightly lit corridor, blinking in the harsh lights. Vila watched him leave. Avon had avoided the moment once again, and he'd let him. He had one chance left. Picking up Orac from the bench, he followed Avon into the corridor, wondering how long he could hold it together.

* * *

Blake was pacing nervously up and down the control room, his long stride covering the distance in just five paces. Sartok, his aide, watched him from his position by the long range scanners which monitored the increasingly crowded space above Gauda Prime, the pacing making him as nervous as his leader. Finally, after counting thirty journeys across the room, he couldn't stand it any longer.

"For God's sake, Blake, take it easy! You're making me more nervous than the Federation up there." As he spoke he waved his hand at the roof of the underground bunker. Faintly he could hear the muffled sounds of explosions as the Federation ground troops already stationed on the planet unsuccessfully tried to enter the sealed entrance.

Blake stopped pacing and turned to look at him. At seeing the younger man, his face pinched and scared, he smiled reassuringly.

"They can't get in, Sartok."

"I know. They've been trying for a day without success. Not even a dent in the force field," his aide replied, giving a faint smile.

"You'll have to forgive my pacing. I am not a patient man. I don't like waiting. Orac should have sent the all clear by now."

"I am sure all is well and Avon is on his way. The transport fleet should be well on their way to their destinations by now."

"It's still only sixteen hours until all hell is going to break loose. Avon is going to be cutting it fine," Blake pointed out.

"From what you have told me of him, last minute appearances are something of his speciality," Sartok commented.

Blake looked at Sartok for a moment then gave a short laugh.

"You're right. He does like to make an entrance, usually at the eleventh hour. Even so, keep a sharp eye on those scanners. I want to know the moment he comes into range. I need to know he is here before the Federation do."

"Count on it," Sartok replied earnestly and turned his attention back to the scanners, never letting his eyes waver from the screen. Blake wondered if he himself had ever been so keen, so involved as the young man before him. If he had it was a long time ago, longer than he could remember. Touching the scar on his cheek thoughtfully, he resumed his pacing once more.

* * *

Avon, seated behind the controls of the teleport, swiftly keyed in the landing coordinates. Checking his calculations one final time he raised his eyes to the teleport bay. Soolin and Dayna stood impatiently, their fingers drumming a staccato tattoo on the metal handles of the cases they carried. Their normal clothes were hidden by the thick fabric of outdoor survival suits. Each wore a teleport bracelet. In one hand was the metallic canister of explosive charges, in the other a pair of thick, heavy duty thermal gloves. Avon looked at both of them and smiled coolly. "Are you ready to go?"

"It wouldn't matter if we weren't. You would send us anyway," Dayna replied smoothly.

"You know what you are supposed to do?"

"Yes, finally. Surprisingly Orac was more forthcoming than you were. I get the lovely planet of Trentaster, Soolin gets Gynoc. Avon, both of them have surface temperatures close to freezing!" Dayna complained.

"Why do you think we replicated the survival suits?" Avon consoled them with a wicked grin. "Good luck, and be careful. See you on Gauda Prime."

"Good luck, Avon. Isn't Vila joining us?" Soolin enquired.

"He'll follow you down in a couple of minutes. I need to have a few words with him...alone." His face was suddenly granite.

Dayna and Soolin exchanged anxious glances and for a moment Dayna almost felt pity for the man stood before them saying farewell to everyone he knew and loved. Making the choice to go on alone. Then an image of his callous dismissal of Tarrant came into focus and she pushed the feeling resolutely aside.

"Put us down," she said abruptly.

Avon started to depress the sequence of flashing buttons that activated the teleport. The green haze began to rise from the floor enveloping the two women. Pushing two levers forward, he watched the figures began to vanish until only the haze remained. For less than a second it hung in the air, a shimmering vortex of jade, until with a flash it dropped to the ground and was gone. The teleport bay was empty.

"Two down and one to go, Servalan," Avon muttered beneath his breath. "Then it's just you and me, alone to the end." Avon smiled thinly, his face alight with grim anticipation. For a second the all too familiar sheen of madness glazed his eyes. Then, remembering what was still left to do, he stopped short, his vision clearing, leaving nothing but sorrow and hollow despair.

"Vila!" he called to the small figure crouching over a box in the corridor beyond. "It's time to go."

* * *

Vila straightened up, the metal case containing Orac gripped firmly between his hands, his knuckles white. He entered the teleport room moving straight across into the teleport. Only then did he turn to face Avon, his face pale and set, his bottom lip caught between his teeth to dispel the tremble he knew would otherwise be obvious.

"I guess this is it," he said quietly, worrying his lip with his teeth once again. "I still don't know what to say."

"Say something you've never said before...nothing," Avon retorted with a mirthless laugh. Vila could hear the desperation in it, the forced bravado. An effort to maintain the persona he had so carefully cultivated to the end.

Vila's mouth curved in a mournful smile. "No. Something tells me this might be my only chance to get the final word." His last chance to respond in kind.

Avon gave a desperate laugh, the façade cracking to reveal the Kerr Vila had yearned to see one final time. "As I recall you've had the last word plenty of times..."

Vila felt a surge of emotion block his throat and for a long moment he could only look at Avon, taking in every feature, remembering the occasions Avon was referring to, so long ago.

"I don't think 'Please Avon' really counts," he said finally, swallowing hard and blinking his swimming eyes furiously. Avon's eyes darkened. He slid out from behind the console and crossed to Vila, standing in front of him. The heavy metal case slid from Vila's hands, meeting the floor with a hollow clang. Neither man noticed.

"How about 'Don't stop'? Does that count?" Avon lifted Vila's hand and kissed his palm.

"I guess," Vila said weakly, knowing he should pull his hand away but unable to move. All he could focus on was the feel of Avon's rough lips against the hot skin of his palm and the eyes, black as coal, burning into his own with longing so intense that, if Avon had pulled him to the floor, he would have followed without a thought for the consequences.

"In fact, if you think about it," Avon drawled, before pressing another open mouthed kiss to the inside of Vila's wrist, "you got all the best last words." Vila gave an involuntary shudder, his breath releasing in a sound that was neither whimper nor moan, but more hopeless wanting. At the sound Avon pulled the thief to him. "You don't want this one," he said fiercely, grabbing Vila's other hand and bringing both of them to his lips. This kiss was merely gentle, tender, filled with love; a goodbye. He felt the thief shudder as the emotion he had been trying to suppress finally flooded to the surface as a harsh guttural sob.

"Kerr..." Vila fought for the words, any words, but they died in his throat. Avon released him with one final squeeze of his hands, returning to his position behind the teleport controls. Unbearably weary, Vila reached down and retrieved the metal case.

As he straightened, Avon looked across at him,

"Always and forever, Vila. Don't forget." He paused and swallowed hard, his still burning eyes boring into Vila's, trying to convey every word he'd never had chance to say. "Goodbye."

His fingers skimmed over the teleport controls, pushing the lever forward slowly. As the green haze began to rise Avon watched as the thief disappeared from view.

Suddenly the ship fell silent, as though all the life had suddenly left it. It was, Avon realised, nothing less than the truth. Any life he had left had vanished along with a Delta thief named Vila Restal. Standing, he looked about him at the empty room, surrounded by empty corridors. A dead ship.

He and Servalan should fit right in.

* * *

When Vila looked around to take stock of his surroundings, he had the uncomfortable feeling that the teleport had malfunctioned and he'd been deposited on the wrong planet entirely. Instead of the rough hewn walls of a grand cavern and the no doubt sullen faces of Dayna and Soolin, he stood in a dimly lit room draped in flowing gauzy material.

He swallowed, glad that he was alone, and closed his eyes, fixing the last image of Avon at the teleport controls in his memories. At once the familiar tight knot formed in his chest, making it difficult to breath, and he felt his eyes well once again with tears. He couldn't believe he had just let Avon walk out of his life for good. How could he leave Avon with her, with no-one to watch his back? What was he supposed to do now?

Gradually Vila became aware of the heavy weight of Orac still in his hands. He lowered the metal case to the floor. At the soft clang, he heard a movement on the far side of the gauzy drapes. Belatedly he realised he might not be as alone as he first thought, the dim light and soft wafting drapes creating a shadowy cocoon where any number of assailants could hide. He froze, waiting for any further sound of movement, his eyes darting to each shadowy fold in turn. There was nothing. Cautiously peering through the soft folds of material he could just make out a high bed on which almost certainly lay a figure. Frustrated by the blurry image the gauze produced, he stretched out one hand until he encountered the curtain and carefully pulled it to one side. The figure laid on the bed was now distinct and, though the face was hidden, the copper sheen haloed around the head and shoulders was unmistakable. Rhiannon.

Vila's heart sank. It was too soon. He needed time to school his own features and emotions back into some semblance of order before he could handle dealing with her desperate feelings. Damn Avon. Why had he put him down here? Yes, Orac's existence needed to be kept hidden and yes, he had promised Avon to look after Rhiannon. But did the man have to put him down right in her god-damned bedchamber? Didn't he realise how hard this was going to be? For both of them?

Vila looked across the room, scanning the far walls for a means of escape. It was too late.

On hearing the swish of the curtain Rhiannon turned over and sat up, her hair falling about her head in untidy waves, her face pale and stark in the flickering light. Tragically beautiful.

"Avon?" she whispered hopefully, peering into the dim light.

Vila swallowed and hoped his voice would remain steady.

"Not when I last looked in the mirror." He stepped out of the shadows into the circle of light provided by a single candle on a table next to the bed, hoping that the poor light would hide the distress on his own face.

"Vila." Rhiannon's face fell with disappointment. "I'm sorry, Vila, I had hoped..."

"I understand. I'm sorry I can't bring you better news. He's leaving," he replied quietly, unable to hide the tremble in his voice.

"I know. He isn't coming back, is he?" she said, the question filled with hopelessness.

"No." Vila knelt down beside the metal case and flipping open the lid revealed the glowing perspex box. Taking the key from his pocket, he slipped it into the slot, releasing a slow breath as the familiar hum resumed. "This is the infamous Orac," Vila explained, glad to find his voice was now unwavering. "I have to contact Avon. Do you want to talk to him?"

Rhiannon paled but shook her head. "There's nothing left to be said."

Vila nodded. "Orac, contact Avon on the _Liberator_," he ordered tersely. There was a pause as Orac opened the link and then he said briskly, "Avon, this is Vila. Down and safe." He closed his eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed besides Rhiannon, waiting for Avon's response.

"You actually followed my instructions." Avon's voice was neutral. "See if you can manage to keep it up for once. Remember what I said, Vila. Keep her and yourself safe. _Liberator_ out."

The room once more filled with Orac's low hum. For a long moment there was stillness, as though the reality of what had just happened was still not quite believed, then Vila laid a hand on Rhiannon's shoulder. He wasn't sure what he meant by it. Comfort? Reassurance? It just seemed important that he did. Wordlessly she turned to face him, lifting her piercing green eyes to meet his. As he watched, her automaton-like expression fractured, crumpling with pain. With a raw choking sob, Rhiannon hid her face against his shoulder. He let it lie there as his own tears fell unchecked into her hair.

* * *

"I don't know what to say to you," Rhiannon said candidly some time later. She pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the heels of her palms and looked apologetically and somewhat sheepishly at Vila. "Here am I crying on your shoulder and you... well, I can't imagine what you must be feeling."

"The same as you," Vila replied with a weak smile. "Just because you only knew him a short time doesn't mean your feelings for him should be any less deep than mine, or any less valid."

Rhiannon sighed. "God, this is such a mess. I know I should be out there taking charge but all I want to do is hide. I'm not sure I can do this."

Vila took her hand and held it tight as he said, "Yes, you can. You were strong enough to let him go so you're damn well strong enough to survive without him now."

She gave him a tight smile. "I wish I had your faith." There was long silence. "What are you going to do?"

"Do what Avon asked me to do, until the Federation is sorted one way or another, then honestly I don't know. Go back to Earth if we win, hide in the outer colonies if we lose, I suppose."

"Will you go look for him?" Her question was almost a whisper, the fear that she might find Avon only to lose him to Vila written clearly on her face.

Vila tilted his head to one side and gave her a reassuring smile, though the effort cost him dearly. "No, I won't go looking for him. There wouldn't be any point. Even once the Federation is destroyed we couldn't ever be together. No, when I said goodbye to Kerr on the _Liberator,_ that was it. Always and forever." Vila's voice caught on the final words and he coughed to cover up the fact that he was close to tears.

"Why? Avon said something happened in the past but he wouldn't tell me. He said it wasn't his story to tell. What happened back then, Vila? I'd like to know."

Vila shook his head. The memories were too painful, especially at that moment. And they were private, between him and Kerr. "I can't."

"Vila, why did you come here?" Rhiannon asked frankly.

"What do you mean?"

"When you teleported down, why did you come here and not into the main cavern or the control room?"

"I... It was Avon, he set the coordinates," Vila confessed.

"So he sent you to me. Why was that?"

"I don't know," Vila said softly.

"I think you do. I think he wanted us to look after each other." As she spoke she leaned forward and opened a drawer in the cabinet besides the bed. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, she hesitated, then handed it to Vila. "Avon left this for me. Read it."

"I don't..." Vila began pushing the paper back towards her.

"Please."

Vila reluctantly unfolded the paper and read the few short words in silence.

_My Love, you gave me one night of complete peace and I will treasure that for the rest of my life. I'm sorry for what I have to do. Forgive me. Avon._ _Find Vila. He'll make sure you're safe. He's the only one I trust._

The ache in Vila's chest intensified at the sight of Avon's flowing script. Breathing heavily he pushed the paper back at Rhiannon. She took it and said gently, "I'm sorry. I know that was hard, but don't you see? Avon told me to come and find you, then he sent you to find me. He knew that we would need each other to get through this. But I need to know, Vila. I need to know what happened to drive you apart."

Vila considered her words. In Rhiannon he'd found another person who knew and understood his feelings for Avon. Dayna and Soolin knew but they could never understand just what had brought him and Avon together and then separated them. Nor would Blake. And, though the thought made his breath hitch in his throat, really she had a right to know why he could never be a rival for Avon's affections. In truth, what harm could it do?

Vila leant against the cushions, their heavily embroidered covers protecting his back from the cold rough wall behind. He drew his knees up to his chest, resting his crossed arms on top of his knees. Then he tilted his head back, looking up into the swath of drapes above the bed. His eyes became unfocused as he slipped back into his memories. After a moment he dropped his eyes back down and focused on Rhiannon.

"You look like a little girl," he commented, gesturing to her position, sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the bed, her hair a tangled curtain down her back. "You're too young to be tainted by all this." His second comment was almost an aside, not really directed at her.

"Vila, please. You can trust me," Rhiannon pleaded.

Vila nodded.

"The first thing to know is that Avon and I met a long time ago, long before we even knew of Blake's existence. Avon was preparing to raid the Federation Banking System. It was an ambitious plan but the rewards would have been unimaginable. Avon was always a genius when it came to electronics...computers and stuff, but to make the plan work he needed to get around a couple of more conventional locks. For that he needed to learn some basic lock-picking skills and even then I had a bit of a reputation..." Vila shrugged self-depreciatingly.

"It started then. He can be very charming, you know..." He gave her a wry smile and she nodded a little sheepishly. "I was flattered by the attention. He had this..." He paused, searching for the right word. "...need, I suppose. I only came to understand it much later, but as much as he wanted solitude, he can't bear be left alone with his daemons. Back then he almost seemed to crave closeness. Anyway it was a pretty heady mix and we were sleeping together less than a week after we met."

"It wasn't serious; at least not for him. I think I was one of his experiments. He liked experimenting. As for me, well, I loved him but I accepted it for what it was, a brief, intense affair that could never last. It was soon over. Avon had learned everything I could teach him; he was always a quick study. And I knew he had a woman he was involved with at the same time."

"Servalan?" Rhiannon's voice wavered slightly.

Vila shook his head and gave a dry chuckle. "No, not then. That was Anna. Anna Grant. His step-sister, can you believe? No less treacherous, just not as obvious. He was stunned by her, I think. All she had to do was snap her fingers and he went running..."

"That doesn't sound like the Avon I know," Rhiannon interjected.

Vila shrugged as though it were no importance, but Rhiannon could see the tenseness in his face. He was fighting to keep his emotions in check, keep the rage locked away. Whether the rage was directed at her or the unknown Anna Grant she couldn't tell.

"He was in love with her. You do some strange things when you're held in the grip of such a strong, and for Avon, unfamiliar emotion. He'd been betrayed by everyone he knew and loved and he seized the opportunity for happiness with both hands. She betrayed him, just as everyone else had done, although he didn't know it at the time. He thought she'd died in Federation custody and I think it nearly killed him. For a while he certainly didn't want to live. I'd kept tabs on him as much as I could but I couldn't prevent his capture; all I could do was make sure I ended up on the same prison ship - the _London_."

"You were caught on purpose?" Rhiannon couldn't keep the shock from her voice.

"Of course! You don't think I would have been captured so easily otherwise." Vila looked almost affronted. "Anyway, when we met again on the _London_ Avon wasn't exactly pleased. He was bitter and vicious and he tried his best to push me away. I wouldn't let him. No matter what he dished out, I just took it and told him I loved him. I don't think he'd realised how stubborn your average Delta is. It took a while but eventually he accepted I wasn't going anywhere and we picked up where we left off. It sounds strange but I think for a while on the _London_ Avon was actually happy. I know I was. We were discrete. No-one knew, or so I thought. And then we ran into the _Liberator_, and the rest is history."

"So what about Servalan?" Rhiannon insisted.

Vila sighed, running his hand back through his hair at the uncomfortable memory.

"We'd been on the _Liberator_ for a while. Blake was all fired up with rebel zeal, intent on freeing the Galaxy. Avon was equally intent on commandeering the _Liberator_ as his own, and I was just going along for the ride. In truth I just wanted to be where Avon was. Our relationship was still a secret but things had got more serious for both of us. I'd always loved Avon and by then I knew he loved me as well. We'd had a couple of run-ins with Servalan and she knew that while Blake was dangerous, Avon was the real enemy. He was dispassionate, calculating, almost a machine. It was clear to everyone, including Blake, that Blake's mission was just a means to an end for him, but Blake relied on him nonetheless. Servalan knew if she could turn Avon she would have won a major victory against Blake and his cause. But she couldn't. It turned out Avon was loyal, if not to Blake, then to me. Curiously she seemed reluctant to kill him, even then. Maybe she does have some real affection for him. Superficially they have a lot of things in common..." He ignored Rhiannon's indignant gasp and smiled, "...but I think back then it was because she wanted to play the long game; turn Avon from being Blake's greatest ally into his greatest threat. And she decided if she couldn't turn him, then she'd break him; so she focused on his greatest weakness... Me."

Vila's voice fell to a whisper and Rhiannon could see unshed tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. Impulsively she stretched out a hand, placing it on one knee. Vila appeared momentarily startled then he covered her hand with his own, squeezing it tight.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I don't know how she found out. Maybe someone from the _London_ had seen something, despite the precautions we took, and passed on the information. In the end it didn't matter how she knew, only that she did."

His voice took on a far-away quality as he recounted,

"It was a supply run, that was all. Totally insignificant; it wasn't even a Federation base. It was never going to make it onto the vid-screens back home as one of Blake's infamous raids. Avon just needed some components for one of his inventions – he was always tinkering – and we found this little out-of-the-way, backwater moon called Tarcan Four that had what he needed. So just Avon and I teleported down. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, there weren't even any guards to speak of. No Feds, just a couple of local heavies. But it turned out to be a trap. She was waiting for us with a handful of Feds. We had no idea what we were walking into. We put up a fight, of course, but it was no good. I took a stun-gun blast to the chest and the last thing I remember was seeing Avon fall and thinking, 'If this is it, at least we're together'."

He shuddered at the memory, his eyes now fixed on the flickering torch on the opposite side of the room. Rhiannon shuffled round until she was leant on the cushions beside him, and slipped her arm through his, hugging it tightly.

"I don't know how long it was before I came round," Vila recollected, not even acknowledging her touch. "Judging by how groggy I was when I woke up, I figure they must have kept me under sedation. I woke up in a cell, and there was no sign of anybody. No Servalan, no guards, they'd just left me there. They didn't even seem interested in learning anything I knew. For two days food was delivered from a dispenser in the wall and I never saw another soul. I remember not being particularly surprised. I'd always known that Kerr was the prize, I was just collateral spoils. I was more scared about what they were doing to Kerr than what they might do to me."

"And then she came. There was a hiss as the door slid open. I turned and there she was, stood in the doorway, in gleaming white as always. The Ice Queen. And she said, 'Ahh, Vila. Tell me, do you miss him?'. Just that. But the look on her face was triumphant. It was evil, and it sent shivers down my spine because she knew the truth about Kerr and me and I knew she'd done something terrible.

"I was waiting for her to tell me that she'd killed Kerr, gloat about it. I couldn't think of anything else that would bring such malevolent joy to her face. But she just stood silently there while two of her brute guards muscled in and dragged me out. And I thought, 'this is it. She's going let me die, not knowing what had happened to him.' I was expecting a firing squad... Sometimes I think it would have been better if they had."

He fell silent as the swirl of memories overtook him. For a full minute there were only the faint sounds of breathing and the spluttering of the torches, then Vila blinked, becoming aware of Rhiannon at his side for the first time. He gave her a humourless smile before continuing.

"Instead, they took me to a control room. And there was Kerr. Stood there, not a mark on him, looking his usual inscrutable self. All arrogance and red leather. He couldn't quite contain the relief on his face when he saw me. I have to say I think it was the most gratifying moment of my life. I nearly laughed out loud. Then I wondered where Blake was. He was usually the one who went charging in gung-ho to rescue members of the crew, but he wasn't there. Or Cally. Or Gan. And then I realised it wasn't a rescue, it was a trade, and I worried what he'd given her to secure my release, if he'd agreed to trade me for him. I wouldn't have agreed to that. He was too important to the cause, I was expendable."

"And then Servalan, looking at us both, smiled and told us what she had done – there was such joy in her voice, Rhiannon, such unashamed joy at the sentence she was doling out. She'd poisoned me. It turned out I'd been imprisoned for a month. She'd kept me sedated while her scientists had engineered a virus and transfected every cell in my body with a specific gene – she mockingly called it 'targeted gene therapy'. It's not a new procedure, it's been around for hundreds of years; they use it to cure genetic defects, replace a faulty gene with a good copy. But the gene she gave me was special. Its product was, I mean is, lethal. Oh, not to me, that would have been too easy, or to the population in general. It's just lethal to Kerr." Rhiannon couldn't contain the exclamation of dismay that escaped her lips.

Vila's mouth twisted at the sound and he swallowed hard. He had known it would be hard to relive this memory, but he wasn't sure he was going to be able to make it through the next part. Not that he really had a choice. He coughed, clearing his throat.

"Sh... she took great pleasure in describing how she'd taken a sample of Kerr's...blood while he was unconscious after the ambush and used it to engineer a poison...specifically attuned to his DNA," Vila remembered haltingly. He looked up at the drapes above the bed, unwilling to meet Rhiannon's eyes. "And then she'd let him go. She let him return to the _Liberator_ whilst keeping me prisoner. Whilst she turned me into his death warrant. I can remember looking down at my hands, thinking, 'I can't ever touch him again', and she must have seen it in my face because she laughed and told us with great condescension that casual skin contact probably wouldn't transmit the poison. But anything more... How did she describe it? Intimate, any contact of bodily fluids, would induce a death more painful than we could imagine."

"Forget the fact that Avon and I had been lovers; one sneeze in his direction, one bead of sweat touching the slightest cut or graze, and I could kill him," Vila said thickly, taking a long shuddering breath. "I couldn't think, I don't think I believed what I was hearing. I just stood there looking at my hands. The next thing I knew she'd told us we could go. That she would be observing the outcome of her 'experiment' with interest. I remember Avon took my hand and fastened a teleport bracelet round my bare wrist. He was showing her that he wasn't afraid to touch me, that it didn't matter, but we both knew it did. We knew it was as much as we would ever have. And Kerr's eyes were so filled with loss and utter desolation. But only for me to see.

"Then she was gone and we were back on the _Liberator_. We didn't tell a soul. Blake and the rest never knew what she did to us, I don't know what cover story Avon concocted, but Cally knew. She'd worked out that Avon and I were involved; she was so sensitive to the atmosphere on the ship, we had no chance of hiding it from her. But to be fair she never challenged us directly about it, not before Tarcan Four. But she'd been manning the teleport when we came back, when our thoughts were at their most unguarded, and as soon as we stepped from the teleport I saw her face crumple as she learned what Servalan had done. I wasn't sorry that she knew though, I don't know what either of us would have done without her."

"But I thought Avon and Cally were lovers?" Rhiannon asked in confusion.

Vila gave a twisted smile. "They were. Later. Avon needed somebody and it couldn't be me. Cally loved him. She understood what loving Avon would mean, but it didn't stop her. And I know he loved her by the end. He was distraught when she died, although I think I was the only one he allowed to see. I remember we sat down, the three of us, and had this surreal discussion. She actually asked my permission. She didn't want me to be hurt. What was I supposed to do? I didn't want Avon to be alone. Alone he's too unpredictable, too dangerous."

"But what about you, Vila?" Rhiannon asked gently. "Have you never wanted to find someone else?"

"Just once. There was this girl, Kerrill. I honestly thought about leaving the _Liberator_ and Avon behind and staying with her. At least then I would have known Avon was finally safe. But in the end I was selfish. I realised I couldn't leave. I rationalised that it was in Avon's best interest that I stay, that he needed a steadying hand, someone to act as his conscience. But the truth was I was too scared to leave him behind."

Rhiannon fell silent, considering his words. She wanted to ask him how he felt about Avon's relationship with her. Hearing his story she couldn't help but feel that she had hurt Vila immeasurably in snatching those few short hours with Avon. She had to ask.

"Was there a chance Servalan was bluffing?" was the question she found herself asking. Coward, she thought angrily, and stupid. If Servalan had been bluffing, did she really think she'd be having this conversation? Hell, she would never even have met Avon.

If Vila thought the question was pointless, though, he didn't show it, merely shaking his head.

"We did tests in the lab. In every test, Avon's cells died. Servalan was thorough, I'll give her that.

"She was evil," Rhiannon spat. "I'm glad she's dead."

Vila looked away. "You won't get an argument from me."

"Did you ever try to find a cure?" Another stupid question, she berated herself.

This time Vila laughed, but it was bitter and raw. "Of course we did. With Cally's help we tried everything we could think of, and when Orac arrived on the scene we used his ability to interrogate other computers as well. But Servalan's scientists had done their job well. When they developed the poison, they had no need to find a cure and it turned out that, although the poison was harmless to me, there was no way to remove the gene sequence from my DNA without it killing me. Eventually we stopped looking. It was too much to constantly have our hopes dashed. It was only then that Cally and Avon...you know."

"Oh, Vila. I'm so sorry. You must hate me," Rhiannon said finally, her eyes misting with tears. Even her worst imaginings hadn't pictured something as cruel as this.

Vila smiled sadly. "No, I don't hate you. But jealous? Yes. I was jealous...am jealous. Not that it matters. I'm glad that he met you. I'm glad he got the chance for that moment of peace with someone who loves him. He deserved that."

"So do you, Vila. Promise me someday soon you'll go look for it. I think Avon would want that. For both of us."

* * *

**I know, I have been unspeakably cruel. I'm sorry...but nothing less would have kept them apart.**


	17. Cairn Of Stones

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_Cairn Of Stones_

Avon released the transmission button slowly, clinging on to the last contact with his life. Vila had carried out his instructions to the letter, not that he had ever really doubted he would.

"Orac. Initiate programmed course to Gauda Prime." His voice sounded strange to his own ears, hollow and lifeless.

"AS YOU WISH." If he hadn't known it for a fact Avon would have found it difficult to believe that Orac was no longer on the ship, that the voice which only those on the _Liberator_ could now hear was emanating from a small perspex box on the planet a thousand spacials below. Soon that distance would be far greater. He hoped that Orac's long range capacities were as great as the computer claimed; if not, everything he had done so far, everything he had sacrificed, would be for nothing. Not that he would be alive to regret it.

Avon detected the increased thrum of the engines as the ship moved out of orbit. Turning his back on the console and the empty flight deck, he climbed the stairs, striding determinedly towards his cabin. He was going to enjoy the next part of his plan. After all, he had waited a very long time for it.

* * *

Avon paused before the brushed metal of his cabin door, the dully gleaming surface reflecting a dark distorted figure with a strangely featureless face. Nothing left but a wraith. Avon's mouth twisted at the truth of his thoughts. He took a deep breath, releasing the air between his teeth in an effort to calm his racing pulse, the unfamiliar flutter of apprehension turning his stomach. It was a reaction that surprised him. The need for retribution had been the overriding purpose in his life for the past four years, his current course of action fixed in his mind. But now the moment was here, there was an element of fear he had not expected. A fear that without Vila at his side, watching his back, he wouldn't be strong enough to complete this.

Even as his confidence wavered, the image of the thief's pale disbelieving face on Tarcan Four sprang to the forefront of his mind. That image was almost immediately superseded by Servalan's haughty features, her scarlet lips curved in a cruel mocking smile as she passed sentence and informed them of her 'experiment'. It was all the spur he needed.

Composing his face into one of cold, calculating pleasure with little difficulty, he touched the buttons of the keypad in a complex sequence to release the door to his cabin. With a soft hiss it slid open. Avon stepped inside but this time made no move to close the door behind him. It was a precaution not needed now. The object of his rage lay on the bunk on the far side of the cabin, loosely covered by a shimmering soft woven blanket of metallic thread. On the floor beside the sleeping figure an empty glass lay overturned beside an equally empty hexagonal bottle. A trickle of vivid red viscous liquid had collected against the lip of the glass, mockingly imitating a pool of blood. Crouching beside it, Avon bent forward, dipping a finger into the liquid and touching it to his tongue. He smiled as the sharp tang of alcohol hit his taste buds. Servalan would not thank him when he woke her from the drunken stupor she was undoubtedly in. Artian brandy was renowned for its strength as much as for its unpleasant after-effects.

Maliciously he poked a finger hard into the small of her back. With a muted curse she struggled to turn over to face him. Her make-up, normally pristine, was smudged and the dark rings below her eyes owed nothing to eye shadow. Her face screwed up in pain as the dim lights of the cabin hit her eyes with the apparent force of a searchlight and she quickly raised one hand to shield her face, only to groan as it became apparent to Avon that all of the reported side effects of the brandy appeared to be true, including the muscle pain. Servalan's current condition may have been unintentional but he couldn't deny the satisfying frisson of pleasure it generated.

"You're a bastard, Avon, leaving me locked up in your cabin with nothing but that stuff to drink," she moaned finally, waving at the bottle on the floor with her other hand, earning herself a further wince of pain.

"I thought it might make time pass more quickly," Avon said solicitously, an innocent yet somehow smug smile planted firmly on his face.

"Don't lie, Avon. You thought it would keep me quiet until you were ready," Servalan challenged.

"Well, you have to admit it worked," Avon replied smoothly, allowing her to continue thinking this had been his intention all along instead of another unexpected bonus. Servalan laughed reluctantly and lifting her face brushed her lips against his cheek.

"I think I actually missed you," she admitted softly. She looked over his shoulder at the open door. "I take it the fact you are here openly means we are alone. What did you do with the crew?" Her face was alive with curiosity. As much as Avon had mocked and appeared uncaring of his companions, had he really been so dismissive of their lives as to carry out what he'd promised?

Avon saw the glint of anticipation in her eye. She was testing him.

"I teleported them into space," Avon lied easily, making sure his face remained hard and his voice disinterested. "It was remarkably easy. I ordered them down to the planet and reset the co-ordinates. They had no suspicions at all. Like lambs to the slaughter."

"No regrets? Even when you sent Vila to his death?"

"None," Avon retorted blandly. "I gave Vila the fate he deserved. As for the others, they had outlived their usefulness."

Servalan eased herself into a sitting position, swinging her long legs over the edge of the bunk. The long skirt of her dress fell to one side with a slither of silk on silk, revealing a long expanse of thigh. She saw Avon's gaze flicker to the exposed flesh and smiled fondly. "I never doubted you would do it. Where are we now?"

"On route to Gauda Prime. Orac estimates fourteen hours until we make planetfall."

His voice betrayed no emotion, but his eyes glittered with something Servalan could not identify. It was unnerving but she nevertheless said confidently,

"Just think. By this time tomorrow we will control the whole galaxy. The masters of all we survey."

"I am thinking about it," Avon acknowledged with a cool smile. "I've been thinking about it for a very long time."

"It will be worth the wait, Avon."

"I don't doubt it." He extended a hand towards her with the intention of helping her to her feet. "Do you want to inspect our ship, Servalan? After all, you've waited a long time to possess it."

Servalan looked beyond him once more at the open door and empty corridor beyond, then looked up at him with a sultry smile. "It can wait. After all this time what difference will a couple of hours make? There is something else I have waited and wanted to possess for a lot longer." She held his shuttered eyes with her own panther-like orbs and in them he could see a spark of longing and possessiveness.

Avon gave an abrupt laugh. "You're a beautiful liar, Servalan. You knew about the _Liberator_ long before you ever met me."

"Not so." She flashed him a knowing smile that turned his stomach. "Bartholomew spoke highly of you. Accomplished and dangerous were the words she used, I believe. Those are my kind of adjectives."

Avon's face darkened and before he could control it a spasm of angry grief passed across his face. "You had to mention her, didn't you?"

"Naturally. Listen to me, Avon. You trusted her and she betrayed you. You had no choice," Servalan said smoothly.

"No, I don't suppose I did." Avon's voice was neutral.

"You don't have to fear that from me," she continued.

Avon gave a snort of incredulous laughter. "You would betray me the first chance you got..."

Servalan merely gave a slight smile and studied the scarlet nails on one long slender hand, her mouth making a moue of dismay as she noticed a chip marring the perfection of one nail. She looked up once more meeting Avon's eyes levelly.

"The important difference is, you have never trusted me...or loved me," she said slyly.

Avon looked thoughtfully at Servalan for several moments before nodding slowly. His expression was inscrutable.

"How is your hangover, Servalan?" he said finally.

She reached up and took the hand which was still extended towards her. He looked almost startled at the contact. Instead of allowing him to pull her to her feet, she dragged his hand down, forcing him to bend towards her.

"I think it is about to be cured." Smiling in barely disguised triumph, she laid back against the cushions, pulling him down beside her on the narrow bunk.

"Do you really think this is the time?" he said tartly, although he made no effort to resist her.

"I think it's the perfect time. We have fourteen hours to kill," she replied softly. "Don't you think we have waited long enough?"

A slow smile spread across Avon's face, not quite reaching his eyes which remained shuttered, but Servalan did not notice as he lowered his head to take her mouth in a bruising kiss.

* * *

Sartok released the transmission button and with a grim smile crossed the room to a door set into the wall on the opposite side. It was ajar. Giving a soft knock as he pushed the door open, he stepped inside without waiting for a reply. The room beyond was shrouded in semi-darkness, the lights intentionally set on one-quarter intensity. A man sat at a table, his head bent and resting on crossed arms. As Sartok entered, the man sat up, immediately alert.

"Sartok?"

"Ahuh. How's the head?"

"Still throbbing. What is it? Has the Federation assault begun again?"

"No, Blake, they've been quiet for over two hours now. I just wanted to let you know that we've got the all-clear from Orac. Avon is an hour behind schedule. It seems they had a run in with a Federation pursuit ship guarding the convoy. Orac assures me that they were able to destroy it before the Federation were able to give the alarm. It also says that Avon has adjusted his flight plan accordingly and the _Liberator_ will be here on time. Oh, and that Commissioner Sleer is also on board." Sartok paused. "Orac is very disconcerting."

Blake chuckled. "That's one way of putting it. Rude, arrogant and condescending are the more usual descriptions. I always felt that it was laughing at me."

"Yes. That's it exactly," Sartok said with a smile. Almost immediately the smile was replaced by a look of consternation. "Blake, why do we still need Commissioner Sleer? Surely she has fulfilled her purpose by summoning the Federation fleet here. Why does Avon not kill her?"

"That's not how Avon does things," Blake explained. "Avon has a personal score to settle with that woman. I don't know exactly why but his need for vengeance consumes him. He hasn't told me what he is planning to do with her, but whatever it is, I couldn't stop him even if I wanted to. As long as she is punished for her crimes, that is good enough for me." Blake's voice was harsh, his face set in bitter, unforgiving lines.

"If Avon is truly as ruthless as you've described I almost pity her," Sartok remarked.

"Don't bother. Whatever punishment Avon deals out, she has more than earned. No, it's Avon I feel sorry for. I fear that he believes that in order to destroy her, he will have to destroy himself. And he will think it's a fair trade." Blake's expression was grim.

Sartok looked at Blake. "I'm not sure I understand," he said seriously. "But I think I will before this is over." Blake's answering smile was bitter.

"Sartok, my friend, you're learning fast."

* * *

A biting wind worked its way through the layers of Dayna's survival suit. She shivered but made no move to adjust the internal heating control; instead she turned her face into the wind, allowing the gusts to dry the tears that trickled unbidden down her cheeks. From the rocky outcrop on which she was stood she could see for many miles, the jagged white rocks of the mountains giving way first to a rolling purple-grey moorland studded with large boulders and then to a lush, vivid green plain dotted with dark green forests and, on the far horizon, the silver glint of a snaking river. To either side, the mountains were highlighted with the fiery orange glow of the evening sun. Looking down at the world below she could almost forget that this planet, and all the planets controlled by the Federation, would soon be at war.

She looked down at the recently built cairn of stones at her feet.

"Well, Tarrant, you'll be able to see anyone coming from here. No-one will be able to catch you by surprise now. I'll miss you watching my back." Taking her father's medallion from around her neck, she laid it across the cairn of stones. "Farewell, love," she whispered under her breath. Straightening she turned her back on the grave to face Soolin, Vila, Rhiannon and Nagor stood a few metres away, their heads bowed in respect. Vila smiled sympathetically, trying to catch Dayna's eye, but she deliberately averted her gaze, unwilling to let any of her companions see any further demonstrations of grief.

"Come on. We have to leave," she said briskly and, without waiting for the others to follow her, she ducked into an opening in the hillside behind them; a tunnel which led to the shuttle bay hidden two hundred feet below. As she made her way cautiously down the badly lit, steep stone steps, the tears she had fought to keep at bay flowing unchecked under the welcome cover of the darkness. Behind her she could hear hurried footsteps, but she did not pause until she reached the bottom. By the time she emerged into the brightly lit expanse of the shuttle bay, her tears had ceased and her cheeks bore no evidence of her distress.

She glanced about the wide cavern. The layout was similar to the Xenon base: two broad concrete platforms sat side by side, each holding a small interstellar shuttle capable of holding little more than a pilot, co-pilot and the necessary provisions and living space for their short journey. The major difference to the Xenon was that here the shuttles could simple fly out of the bay without first being lifted to the surface. The cavern opened out directly onto the mountain side, the outside entrance hidden from prying eyes and Federation scanners behind a sophisticated force field which gave the illusion of an uninterrupted rock face. She studied the two shuttles sat on the launch pad ready to go, one for her, the second for Soolin. She gave a start as an engineer approached her.

"The fuelling is almost complete. Give us five minutes and we'll be ready to go."

"Fine," Dayna replied easily. "Call us when you're ready. I have a few last minute things to take care of anyway." She forced a brief smile. The engineer gave a polite nod and disappeared around the corner of the nearest shuttle craft. Almost immediately Vila and Soolin joined her and, smiling pensively, she turned to face them.

"I guess this is it," she said quietly. "Are we all clear on what we need to do?" She knew the question was unnecessary; it was just something to say.

"We have to contact Blake when the planet is secure," Soolin stated, as though repeating something learned by rote. "Then, when the new government is ready to be established, we take the prospective leaders to Gauda Prime." There was just the hint of a question in her voice.

"That's the plan...if it works," Vila replied in a heavy voice.

"And what will Avon be doing while we are freezing our butts off out there?" Dayna asked sarcastically, her anger at him undiminished.

"He's taken Orac and the _Liberator_ to Gauda Prime to fight the Federation fleet," Vila protested in a conciliatory tone, unhappy at lying to his friends but determined to follow Avon's final instructions to the letter. "It may be reduced in number since the Intergalactic War but it's still going to be tough to beat. Blake'll need all the help he can get."

"How are they going to destroy the whole Federation fleet anyway?" Soolin demanded.

"I have no idea," Vila said baldly. "I'm sure Avon will explain eventually. When it suits him." The new lie was no easier to tell than the last.

"Yes, I'm sure he will," Dayna retorted bitterly, clearly intending to continue. Fortunately her attention was drawn by a wave from the engineer and she checked whatever else she was about to say with a dismissive shrug. "We better go. Good luck, Soolin, Vila. See you on Gauda Prime."

Vila stepped forward and gave her a quick hug, "Look after yourself, Dayna. You too, Soolin." He turned to Soolin and repeated the gesture. "I'm not ready to lose any more friends."

"Thanks, Vila. Hold the fort here," Soolin said awkwardly, ill at ease with such an overt display of affection.

Vila nodded and smiled, "I'll do my best. You know me. "

Soolin and Dayna embraced briefly and without looking back crossed the bay to their respective shuttles, disappearing into the dark hatchways leading into the ships. Vila raised a hand to wave farewell before retreating into the control room behind the blast shield to join Rhiannon. He watched in silence as the shuttle doors closed and the engines roared to life. The glare was intense. Vila raised a hand to his eyes, trying to shield them from the light. Through slightly parted fingers he watched the shuttles rise, hovering a few feet above the concrete. Carefully they began to move towards the entrance, manoeuvring thrusters slowly negotiating the craft through the narrow entrance. As the shuttles cleared the rocky overhang, there was a tell-tale shimmer as the force field reflected from the polished metal, and a high-powered blast rocked the bay. Vila turned away, his eyes blinded. When he looked again, the shuttles were gone, only the tell-tale scorching of the bay floor indicating that they had ever been there.

Rhiannon, who had been sat at one of the control consoles, got to her feet and crossed to where Vila stood staring at the empty bay.

"Are you all right, Vila?" She laid a hand on his shoulder.

Vila covered her hand with his own, turning to her, and nodded. "It seems funny, being on my own. I haven't been alone for over four years. I think it's going to take some getting used to."

"You'll see them again, you know," she assured him with a sad smile. She knew they were both thinking the same thing, that the one person they most desperately wanted to see they would never lay eyes on again.

Vila met her eyes with a grateful look. "I know. It is just that it won't ever be the same again."

* * *

Avon contemplated the uniform curve of the cabin's wall, arching above the bunk in featureless cream panels, unable to prevent himself comparing the sterility to the homeliness of the rough walls and swags of gauzy material of Rhiannon's chamber. At the memory of Rhiannon, a wave of revulsion flooded over him. He had committed the ultimate betrayal, of her and of Vila, Servalan's head resting on his chest burning his skin like a brand. No matter that what he had done had been in the name of vengeance, he had sullied himself and their memories by his actions. And nothing would be able to dispel the sounds of every gasp of pleasure from his ears.

Unable to bear the directions of his thoughts any longer, he carefully slid sideways from the bunk, Servalan's head falling unheeded onto the pillow. He sat on the edge of the bed, hurriedly pulling his jacket over his bare shoulders before pulling on the soft leather trousers pooled beside the bunk. The last thing he wanted now was for Servalan to wake and see him before he had fully assumed his armoured shell once more. The last few hours had been a necessary evil to consolidate his emotional hold over his enemy, but it was something he had no desire to repeat. He pushed the treacherous voice in his ear which reminded him that those gasps of pleasure which now so repulsed him had come from his own lips as well as hers, resolutely to the recesses of his consciousness.

As soon as he was dressed he crossed the cabin, eager to put a few feet of distance between himself and Servalan, who was now beginning to stir. Opening a small panel set into the opposite wall, he pulled out a curiously shaped vessel filled with a colourless liquid. Reaching inside again with his other hand, he pulled out two squat square tumblers pinched together between his thumb and forefinger. Balancing all three items he crossed back to the bed where Servalan, now awake, was laying on one side, propped up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand, watching him through half-lowered lashes. Her face was flushed, her expression softer than he had ever seen before.

Seeing that he was clothed she pouted.

"You're dressed," she said with disappointment. "I was hoping that we might continue where we left off."

He forced an apologetic smile to his lips. "Maybe later." He waved the glasses and bottle in front of her with a questioning look.

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously, the last traces of the unpleasant effects from the previous drink still troubling her head.

"Water," Avon answered drily. "You would be as much use as Vila if you drank any more alcohol." As he spoke, Avon handed a glass to Servalan and poured a measure of water into it and then his own.

Still eyeing it with a measure of suspicion, she raised it slowly to her lips, sipped, and then with a sigh of relief drained the glass.

"There is no need to be nasty, Avon," she said waspishly, stung by his brusqueness.

Avon raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I wasn't aware I was being nasty," he mocked. "Simply honest." He downed his own drink in a single swallow. "We should go the flight deck. We are still some distance from Gauda Prime but the chances we might run into a Federation patrol are increasing every minute. With no crew aboard we should stay alert. We don't have the manpower to take on a patrol in head on combat even with Orac aboard." The lies tripped readily from his tongue. He held out a hand once more, but this time she knew that he would give her no opportunity to pull him down to join her once more on the bunk.

"Very well." Servalan's expression was sulky but she nevertheless sat upright, pulling her dress up in front of her from where it had gathered about her waist at the bidding of Avon's hands. She shuffled across the bunk and taking Avon's proffered hand she rose majestically to her feet, her other hand clutching at the neckline of her gown. She released his hand and, turning her back to Avon, took the two broad straps which when knotted formed the halter neckline of the gown, bent her head invitingly and offered him the soft folds of material.

"Tie me up," she said softly, her voice low and seductive.

With stiff fingers Avon took the straps from her and wordlessly tied them in a firm knot behind her neck, taking care not to touch her pale warm flesh. His hands dropped to his sides and he stood silently behind her.

Servalan waited with bated breath. Surely now he would touch her. Never had her skin burned so hotly with wanting. She had been sure that once she had satisfied her curiosity, her fascination, her need to possess him would leave her. How wrong she had been. Instead his touch had ignited something in her she had thought long dead. In this room, he had been the master and she a slave to his desires. He had made her beg for his caresses, she had pleaded for every kiss. And when he had finally taken her, she had screamed his name until she was hoarse, sobbing with pleasure. It hadn't been enough. She wanted more, she needed more, and it scared her. All thoughts of disposing of Avon had vanished. What she had to do was find a way to keep him tied irrevocably to her side. Make his need for her as strong as her newly discovered need for him. She had to drive all thoughts of that insipid Rhiannon and fool Vila from his mind so that the looks which she had seen him bestow on them were reserved solely for her.

She felt his fingers brush the nape of her neck, feather-light, and a shudder of anticipation travelled down her spine. She waited for the rough graze of his lips to replace the calloused fingers. The fingers vanished.

"Shall we go?" Avon's voice was abrupt behind her. Anger surged through her. Was he actually going to pretend nothing had happened between them?

She turned to face him, her expression dismissive, hoping that none of the hurt she felt showed on her face. She focused her eyes on the open door and swept out of the cabin with swift, graceful strides.

Avon watched her leave, his face inscrutable. Only when her retreating back had vanished into the corridor beyond did he release a long unsteady breath, his lips curling in a cold smile, his eyes burning with barely contained triumph and hate. The last few hours had been harder to endure than he had thought imaginable but it had been worth it. Servalan may have hoped that she had hidden her hurt well but it had shone from her eyes, plain for him to see. It had been a wondrous sight. Forcing the smile from his face, replacing it with one of disdain, he followed her from the cabin into the bright, empty corridor beyond.

* * *

Servalan stood at the top of the flight of stairs and looked around triumphantly, Avon's cut forgotten. Finally she possessed it. The _Liberator;_ the new flagship of her empire. With it she could rule unchallenged once the current Federation command had been brought into line. The ship was a vessel worthy of an empress. Empress... She tried the word on her tongue. Empress Servalan. She liked the sound. In her new dominion, she would crown herself empress. It was a title that would leave her subjects in no doubt as to her role in the new order. No longer would she have to hide her identity behind the provincial title of Commissioner, one which had somehow always seemed to diminish her power.

No one would challenge an empress...except the man who at that moment joined her at the head of the stairs. If she could bind him to her she would allow him to rule at her side. Not as emperor, no, that would raise him too high, but as her consort, her high chancellor. If he could not be brought to her will? The inevitable conclusion brought a swift shaft of pain to her chest, startling her with its intensity.

"What are you thinking about, Servalan? How to dispose of me so the _Liberator_ is all yours?"

Avon's question abruptly interrupted her thoughts. Servalan blinked, startled. His voice was harsh and she found herself unwilling to turn and see the expression in his eyes.

Instead she forced herself to say in as bland a tone as possible, "Actually, I was wondering if this _Liberator_ was more space-worthy than her predecessor. I think I used up all my luck on the first occasion."

She forced herself to turn and face him.

Avon's eyes remained shuttered as he studied her face for a long moment, then they softened imperceptibly as he laughed.

"Some people would say you have the luck of the devil. Personally I think you are more like a cat, with nine lives. And this is surely the last one." As he spoke he leaned forward to kiss her softly on the lips. A surge of renewed longing swept through her and she lifted one hand to his face, intending to deepen the kiss, but almost immediately he released her, walking down the staircase until he stood in front of the main view screen where he turned and looked back to her expectantly.

With a pouting smile and a shrug, Servalan crossed to the nearest console and took up position behind it. She allowed her fingers to trail over the controls, curiosity written all over her face. She lifted her eyes to meet Avon's which were now regarding her in frank amusement.

"You sit here," she stated defiantly, daring him to contradict her.

Avon's eyes flickered to the console beside her, his usual position, but he inclined his head as though agreeing with her.

"Naturally," he replied seriously. "I like to have the most control. From that position I can control all the systems on the ship. Technically, from there I could fly this ship alone if had to."

Relief flickered across Servalan's face.

"But you don't have to, Avon. I'm here. You can teach me to fly her," she purred.

"All in good time," Avon replied briskly. "I don't think now is the time for lessons, do you?"

Servalan's face fell. "I suppose not." With obvious reluctance she started to move from behind the console. Avon put a hand on her arm to stop her. She almost jumped; she hadn't noticed his approach.

He ran his fingers up and down her arm in a light caress that sent her pulse skittering and a low moan to her lips which she only just managed to smother.

"Don't sulk," Avon whispered throatily, his lips brushing her neck. "You can stay there for the moment." He straightened and lifted his fingers from her arm and she almost screamed in frustration.

When he spoke again, the low huskiness of passion had been replaced by brisk efficiency. "Keep an eye on the scanners, warn me if we get company. Remember the Federation have no idea you're on board. I can transfer basic flight controls to a different console." Pushing past her he positioned himself behind his usual station, the one that, in reality, he had designed to control all the functions of the ship. He passed his fingertips over several buttons, pretending to transfer flight controls to his console, then turned to address the flashing panel of lights that provided a focal point for the ship's computer.

"Orac, confirm course and speed," he ordered.

There was a very slight delay before Orac replied, "WE ARE ON COURSE FOR GAUDA PRIME, SPEED STANDARD BY TEN. ESTIMATED PLANETFALL IN SEVEN HOURS AND TWELVE MINUTES."

Servalan lifted her eyes from the scanners and smiled at Avon. "Orac. I should have guessed. Where is the rude little box?" she enquired sweetly.

"Safe. It had to be housed in the central core in order for it to run the ship," Avon lied.

Servalan contemplated his answer for a moment, then frowned.

"Are you going to tell me where the central core is?"

"Not yet," Avon answered flatly.

"Why? Don't you trust me now?" Servalan asked, her tone sharp.

Avon glanced at her in surprise. "Of course not. Did you really expect me to?"

He was surprised to see Servalan appear disconcerted.

"I thought..." she began, unusually lost for words.

"You thought that because we'd...how shall I put it...developed a more intimate acquaintance...I'd suddenly forget every treacherous thing you'd ever done?" His voice was silky and vaguely threatening.

Before Servalan could form a reply, there was the thundering roar of a massive explosion tearing through the hull. The ship rocked violently to one side, sending Avon and Servalan tumbling from behind their consoles. There were blinding flashes of white light as electrical systems short-circuited, showers of sparks cascading from the ceiling and consoles in a surreal fireworks display. From somewhere a klaxon sounded shrilly, needlessly signalling the alarm. Dense black smoke billowed from vents in the walls and ceiling, the acrid stench of ozone filling the air. The overhead lights flickered and died, leaving only the strobing lights of the electrical sparks to illuminate the room. Then, even those died away.

For a moment the flight deck was black, then the emergency lights came online, casting an eerie green glow over the flight deck. At the same moment, the klaxon died with a final echoing warble and there was silence.


	18. Burden Of Doubt

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: My continued and grateful thanks to Orion Lyonesse for somehow managing to find the time to beta my work, to Jay for really wanting to know what Avon is up to, and to the un-named readers who show up on my stats page and make me smile  
**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_Burden Of Doubt_

Servalan opened her eyes to find herself sprawled uncomfortably across the bottom step of the stairs, her back jammed painfully against the metal edging of the tread. She was aware of a warm trickle of blood over her temple which was throbbing mercilessly and made her thankful for the subdued illumination of the emergency lighting. What little breath she had escaped in a low groan of pain. A heavy weight was crushing her chest, driving the air from her lungs. It was Avon. He raised his head and blinked owlishly at her, clearly dazed, and let out a similar grunt of discomfort. She coughed, impatiently pushing him from on top of her. With a stab of satisfaction she heard him give a low growl of indignation. Scrabbling for a handhold on the smooth wall to her left she tried to pull herself upright.

"I thought you said this crate was space-worthy," she grumbled, trying to catch her breath as she raised one hand to her forehead and then looked at her bloody fingers. Avon, face down on the floor where he had landed, rolled over onto his back and sat up slowly, wincing in pain.

"As I recall I never answered that question," he pointed out with a groan. He looked at Servalan, his mouth twisting at the sight of her blood-smeared face. "Are you all right?"

Servalan nodded, her fingertips cautiously searching out the gash at her hairline. She started as she touched the exposed cut but could tell that it was shallow. "It's nothing," she said testily. "Just a scratch."

Avon clambered to his feet. "Orac, what the hell was that?"

Leaning over, he offered a hand to Servalan. After a moment's hesitation she took it and he helped her unsteadily to her feet, every movement apparently causing her pain. As soon as she was standing, Avon released her hand, turning away to the nearest console so that she would not see the thin satisfied smile he could not hide.

Orac hummed into life, the strident voice cutting across the crackle of sparks and hollow clanging of swinging wall panels dislodged by the explosion.

"THE _LIBERATOR_ HAS BEEN HIT BY AN EXPLOSIVE CHARGE, PROBABLY A REMNANT OF A FEDERATION MINE FIELD WHICH HAS BROKEN UP. IT WAS TOO SMALL TO BE DETECTED BY THE SCANNERS." Orac's tone was level, the computer apparently unconcerned by the Liberator's plight.

Avon cursorily scanned the few instrument panels which showed they still had power, then slammed his fist down on one in annoyance. They were useless. "Orac, have you assessed the damage to the ship?"

"YES. INDICATIONS SHOW THAT THE EXPLOSION OCCURRED CLOSE TO THE MAIN POWER BANKS. FORTUNATELY, STRUCTURAL DAMAGE TO THE HULL IS SLIGHT AND THE SHIP'S INTEGRITY HAS NOT BEEN BREACHED. HOWEVER, THERE IS CURRENTLY TOTAL LOSS OF POWER TO ALL MAJOR SYSTEMS, INCLUDING ENGINES AND LIFE SUPPORT. AUTO-REPAIR IS FUNCTIONING ON REDUCED POWER DRAWN FROM THE SECONDARY POWER CELLS. I ESTIMATE SEVENTY-TWO HOURS BEFORE NORMAL OPERATIONS CAN BE RESUMED."

Avon sat looking at the blank screen before him for several moments, assimilating Orac's report.

"Can we divert power from the secondary power cells to resume life support?"

"NEGATIVE. THERE IS INSUFFICIENT POWER AVAILABLE TO RUN LIFE SUPPORT AND AUTO-REPAIR SIMULTANEOUSLY. SUCH ACTION WOULD RESULT IN PERMANENT CRIPPLING OF THE SHIP."

Avon looked at Servalan, who was watching him carefully, and scowled. "Orac, what are your recommendations?" he asked finally.

"THE IMMEDIATE EVACUATION OF THE _LIBERATOR_ BY LIFE CAPSULE. MY MEMORY BANKS LIST A SMALL PLANET WITH EARTH-LIKE CONDITIONS WITHIN CAPSULE RANGE. IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR REQUEST, I HAVE PROGRAMMED THE COORDINATES INTO THE CAPSULES' GUIDANCE SYSTEMS. RETURN TO THE _LIBERATOR_ BY TELEPORT CAN THEN BE IMPLEMENTED, ONCE SYSTEMS ARE RESTORED."

At Orac's pronouncement there was splutter of disbelief from Servalan.

"We can't evacuate the ship, Avon. What about our plans?" she protested.

"What about the plans, Servalan?" Avon said steadily, his eyes fixing on hers with a curiously neutral expression. "We either abandon the _Liberator_ and put our plans on hold for a while, or we stay here and die. It's your choice, but you better decide quickly. According to these readings we only have about six minutes of life support left."

Servalan glanced around the flight deck in annoyance. She'd half-expected Avon to try and double-cross her and this would be the perfect opportunity to get her off the _Liberator_. Yet even she had to concede that the shattered consoles and arcing electrical cables seemed just a little too realistic and the thinness of the air was no illusion. She coughed again, trying to draw some more air into her lungs and nodded, but retorted sharply, "It isn't much of a choice. In seventy-two hours our window of opportunity will be gone. We'll have to start again."

Avon clasped her hands and said, in a tone that could almost be described as loving, "At least we'll be alive to make new plans. Survival first, dominance over lesser mortals second, remember? Look at it this way, for seventy-two hours we'll have nothing to do but amuse ourselves..."

Servalan's expression of annoyance turned thoughtful, her eyes darkening with desire. Avon smiled and leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

"Being stranded will most definitely have its compensations," he said softly. "You go to the life capsules. Follow that corridor to the end and turn right. Wait for me there."

"Where are you going?" Her voice was a mixture of distrust and barely suppressed panic.

"To fetch Orac," Avon explained with a small smile. "I'm not risking leaving it here. The systems can be repaired on automatic but we'll need Orac for the teleport." Without waiting for her to respond Avon ran up the steps and into the corridor leading to the teleport deck. Servalan watched him leave and then brought her fist down on the console violently. She had come so close. A vision of herself ruling as Empress flashed sharp in her mind's eye, vanishing in an instant in a trailing wisp of smoke. She coughed again; the air was almost gone. Avon was right, survival first. Looking around her with angry disappointment, she hurried towards the life support capsules with as much dignity as her torn dress and bruised limbs would allow.

* * *

Blake perused the scanner display for what felt like the thousandth time. The swarm of Federation ships circling the planet seemed even denser than when he'd looked only five minutes earlier, a sea of red dots which seemed to merge into a single menacing mass. If Orac's calculations had been correct, and he had no reason to doubt that they weren't, over ninety-five percent of the Federation's galactic fleet were now stationed in orbit around the backwater planet of Gauda Prime. Even though he knew it was far too soon to expect Avon's arrival, he nevertheless eagerly studied the red dots, hoping for a single point of green.

Glancing at a timer counting down on the opposite wall, he gave a deep sigh. In less than an hour the final deliveries of the contaminated Narox would reach their destinations, every planet and moon influenced by Pylene 50 from one end of Federation space to the other. You had to give the Feds their due, he thought ruefully, the Pacification programme was a shining example of Federation organisation at its best. However, ruthless efficiency and the Federation's own paranoia were the factors he and Avon had been counting on. Once the Narox had been delivered, it was only a matter of time, no more than a few hours, before the effects of the altered Pylene 50 would be felt. It was imperative that as many of the planets succumbed together as possible. With civil unrest breaking out on a hundred planets at once, there would be no chance for the Federation to launch a coherent counter-offensive, especially with its fleet stuck in one location. Fortunately the Federation's fear that someone would steal a sample of the Pylene 50 and develop an antidote to it meant that on almost every world only essential supplies were maintained. There were no stock piles, only minimal emergency supplies. Thus regular supply runs like this one had been instigated and new batches of Pylene 50 were rolled out right across Federation territory in the space of only a few hours. That one of Blake's spies on a relatively minor planet had managed to steal a few precious millilitres of the substance and smuggle it to Gauda Prime had been an unbelievable stoke of good fortune. Now they had an antidote and everything he and Avon had planned for was coming to fruition.

But there were no guarantees and Blake felt a niggling sense of doubt eating at the pit of his stomach. There were so many ways this could go wrong. All they needed was to have underestimated how long the altered Pylene 50 would take to work. Too soon and the rebels would have to attack without the backup of the _Liberator,_ which was guaranteed suicide. Too long and the fleet above them would scour the planet clean from space before the distraction of reports of civil unrest gave the limited rebel fleet and the _Liberator_ a chance to attack. How long would the fleet wait before it made the next move? After all, the Federation were hardly known for their patience.

* * *

Space Commander Velmek leaned back in his command chair, reflecting on the impressive sight of almost the entire Federation fleet arrayed in precise formation. Not that he condoned the massing of the fleet in a single location. As far as he was concerned it was far too dangerous an action, leaving the Federation vulnerable. But those were his orders, coming from the highest authority, and he valued his neck too much to dispute them.

The waiting was making him uneasy.

"Teever!" he barked, causing a stocky young man with a shock of white blond hair to start to attention and hurry to his side.

"Sir?"

"Captain, have we any news on the ground troops?" Velmek asked. "Are they making progress?"

Captain Teever swallowed nervously. Newly promoted to the flight deck of the Federations flagship command carrier, he was eager to make a good impression and Space Commander Velmek, like all the Federation elite officers, was not renowned for his patience or his ability to take bad news well.

"Section Leader Trent reported in about 10 minutes ago, sir," he began, only to fall silent as Velmek turned on him with cold fury.

"And you didn't think to tell me this earlier?" he said silkily, his tone as cold as the flashing green eyes now raking the Captain's face.

Teever turned ashen. "I... he... didn't have anything to report," he stammered. "He said that... well... that the rebel bunker was still impenetrable to ground assault... that his men weren't making any impact on the defences."

Velmek studied the young captain for a moment. Although the man was pale and there was the hint of a tremor running through his stocky frame, he had not looked away, meeting Velmek's gaze even though he must have known that his eyes would display his fear of reprisals for his mistake. Velmek liked that.

"I see. Very well, Teever. I trust you understand that such a lapse in communication cannot happen again?" he said flatly.

Teever flushed. "Yes, Space Commander Velmek. Shall I request that Section Leader Trent reports in to give you a full breakdown of the situation?"

Velmek shook his head and smiled suddenly. "At ease, Teever. Tell me, what is your assessment of the situation on Gauda Prime? Do you think Commissioner Sleer is still alive?"

For a moment Teever looked taken aback, blinking in confusion at Velmek's request.

"My assessment, sir?" he echoed.

Velmek nodded. "You have been monitoring the situation, I would like to hear what you have to say. And be honest. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear."

Teever straightened his shoulders and looked thoughtful.

"I think we've waited long enough," he said shortly, "sir." He looked at Velmek a little worriedly trying to gauge his opinion.

Velmek could tell the 'sir' had been an afterthought but let it pass and raised his eyebrows, encouraging the young officer to continue.

"As I see it, there is no way, short of an air strike, to break the impasse on the ground. The rebels are too firmly entrenched. At the moment the threat against Commissioner Sleer is the only thing preventing us from taking that action. Since the original distress call there has been no contact from the Commissioner or the rebels holding her. As long as we believe the Commissioner to be in that bunker alive, our hands are tied. I think that the time has come to ask ourselves whether she is really alive down there."

"And do you believe she is?" Velmek queried.

"No, sir."

"And would you be willing to risk your career and probably your life on that belief?" Velmek continued.

Teever remained silent.

"You see my problem, Captain," Velmek said tiredly.

"Yes, sir," Teever acknowledged. There was a short silence. "Space Commander Velmek," Teever ventured finally, "I do have a suggestion."

Velmek stared at him in surprise. This captain was a brave man indeed.

"Go ahead," he said, curious as to what was on the young man's mind.

"We could force Blake's hand."

"How exactly?"

"Whilst scanning Gauda Prime I was able to determine that all of the major population centres are deserted. It appears that the local population has either fled or are holed up with Blake, except..." Teever trailed off, the reality of what he was about to propose looming large in his mind.

"Except..." Velmek prompted, trying not to lose patience.

"Except for a small number of outlying settlements in the mountains. The scanners show human life signs; men, women and children. They are so remote to the main cities that it is almost certain they don't even know about the rebel siege or the fleet. Certainly the scanners show they have very minimal technology. We could use them as a bargaining chip. Threaten air strikes unless Blake surrenders. From what I've heard of Blake, it would be very unlikely that he would continue on his current course with the lives of innocents at risk."

Velmek found himself nodding his approval but nevertheless remarked, "What about the innocents Blake has with him in the bunker? He isn't a fool, he knows that his surrender will mean their destruction."

"We could offer some of them immunity," Teever suggested, only to amend, as Velmek turned a look of disgusted incredulity at him, "or... pretend to, at least. Besides, if they have chosen to join Blake in the bunker, they are hardly innocent, and deep down Blake knows that. The mountain people know nothing of this war."

Velmek looked thoughtful, considering Teever's words. He glanced once more out of the forward view port at the armada of ships. Teever was right, they had waited long enough.

"Very well, Captain, I concur with your assessment. Prepare to broadcast a message to Blake and the rebels."

Teever was stunned into immobility, staring speechlessly at his superior officer. After a moment Velmek coughed impatiently.

"Teever!"

The young man jumped into attentiveness.

"Sorry, sir." He crossed to the mutoid manning the communications relay and ordered a channel to be opened. At the mutoid's nod he turned back to Velmek.

"All channels open, sir. Whatever frequency Blake and his men are operating on they'll hear you."

Velmek leaned back in his chair, a predatory smile curving the corners of his stern mouth.

"Attention. This is Space Commander Velmek, officer in charge of the Federation fleet currently orbiting Gauda Prime. I have a message for Roj Blake."

* * *

Blake stopped mid-pace as Space Commander Velmek's voice boomed out across the rebel control room.

"I repeat. This is Space Commander Velmek. I have a message for Roj Blake... Blake, it's in your best interests to acknowledge this message."

Sartok looked across at him in concern, but Blake returned a grim smile.

"I've been expecting this. I'm surprised that it's taken them this long to get in touch. Sartok, open a channel."

Sartok looked even more fearful but nodded and activated a comms channel on the console in front of him.

"Velmek, this is Blake. What do you want?"

"The return of Commissioner Sleer and your surrender," Velmek replied.

Blake gave a short mirthless laugh. "I regret I am unable to fulfil either of those requests, Velmek."

"Blake, you know you can't win. Your position is untenable. Eventually you and your allies are going to have to come up for air and we'll be here waiting. Surrender now and I promise you a fair trial and leniency for your followers."

"Don't take me for a fool," Blake snarled. "You forget, I have seen how the Federation deals with surrendering rebels. And as for a fair trial..." He finished on a snort of derision. "Get to the point, Velmek."

There was a short silence and then Velmek said coolly, "I want to speak to Commissioner Sleer."

Sartok flashed a panicked look at Blake who merely smiled reassuringly.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. The Commissioner was injured in the rebel take-over, not fatally, but she is being treated by our medics and has had to be sedated," he explained patiently.

"Now who is taking who for a fool!" Velmek spat. "For all I know, Commissioner Sleer is dead and there is no reason for me not to destroy your bunker from orbit."

"That's true," Blake said mildly. "But are you willing to take the chance?"

There was another brief silence. Then Velmek spoke, his voice cold and implacable, and despite himself Blake shivered at the venom in his words,

"Blake. Unless you surrender immediately and release Commissioner Sleer alive I will have no choice but to order an air assault."

"Do your worst, Velmek. This bunker is tougher than it looks. Just ask your ground troops," Blake replied stoutly, trying to ignore the look of terror on Sartok's face.

"Oh, you mistake me, Blake. I'm not going to launch my assault on your bunker. You're right, I can't take the chance of killing Commissioner Sleer. No, I'm going to attack another target, a purely civilian target. My staff have identified a number of mountain settlements within strike range of my ship. From our scans I'm guessing they're not even aware of your existence. Even so, their inhabitants will die for your cause. Every man, woman and child. I will make sure that not even a cockroach survives. You have ten minutes, Blake."

Silence filled the control room, only broken by the horrified gasp of Sartok. Blake sat motionless, his face set, carved out of granite.

Finally Sartok spoke.

"Blake, what are you going to do?"

Blake turned and looked at him levelly, his eyes pained.

"Nothing."

The horrified shock on Sartok's face spoke volumes.

"But Blake, those people... they're innocent. I didn't even know there were settlements in the mountains. Otherwise I'd have got them out just like the others."

Blake's expression was bleak but resolute. "I'm sorry, Sartok," he said slowly, "but this is too important. I can't let a few lives stand in the way of bringing down the Federation. We all knew there would be sacrifices."

Sartok shook his head. "What's the matter with you? The Blake I knew, the Blake from the _Liberator, _would never have sacrificed the innocent like this."

Blake's voice was harsh and faintly mocking. "That Blake doesn't exist. He never did. Don't be so naïve, Sartok. Trust me, I would have made the same decision back then if the circumstances had arisen. Destroying the Federation is the only thing that's important. We are so close. If I surrender now, everything, all the lives lost until now, will have been for nothing. I refuse to let that happen."

Blake crossed to the console where Sartok sat, open-mouthed, looking at Blake with disbelief and something which Blake recognised as dawning revulsion.

"Please, Blake, at least let me try and get a message out to warn them," Sartok pleaded.

"There's no time," Blake said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sartok, I don't have any choice."

Leaning past the young man, trying to ignore the slow tears which were now rolling down his cheeks, Blake pressed the button to reopen the channel to the Federation ship above.

"Velmek, this is Blake. No deal. We will not surrender."

* * *

Avon sprinted through the teleport bay, snatching up two bracelets from the rack as he passed, and ran on towards one of the many store rooms. However fake the explosion had been, and he had to admit Orac had surpassed himself, the shutdown of the life support system was real enough and the four remaining minutes of air was barely long enough to complete the task ahead. Persuading Servalan to leave had been more difficult than he thought, her desire to reign supreme over the galaxy so all-encompassing that even the threat of imminent suffocation was nothing more than an irritating distraction. He gasped for breath as he halted outside the store room. The door mechanism was coded against prying eyes and opening it robbed Avon of a few precious seconds. Finally the door slid aside and before the door had even come to rest Avon was inside, his eyes searching the darkened interior for the metal box he knew was there. Spotting it close to his feet, he grabbed the handle and lifted it, straining a little at the unexpected weight. His muscles screamed in pain at the effort, made worse by the lack of oxygen. The short trip to the life capsules seemed to take an eternity and as he rounded the corner to join a breathless Servalan sat waiting by the silver bullet shaped capsules, he collapsed beside her, fighting for breath, allowing the case to crash to the ground with a heavy clang.

"Careful," Servalan hissed. "We can't afford for Orac to be damaged."

"Thanks, I'm fine," Avon shot back with as much sarcasm as his empty lungs could manage. "Here, put this on." He pulled one of the teleport bracelets off his wrist and handed it to her. "Once we land, Orac will be able to bring the ship into orbit when the repairs are completed and we can teleport back."

"Orac will go with me. It's my insurance," Servalan pronounced as she clipped the bracelet around her wrist. "Otherwise how do I know you will come looking for me once we get there? Or even leave the Liberator for that matter. This could all be some ruse to get me off the ship." The effort of speaking resulted in a paroxysm of spluttering coughs.

Avon looked at her incredulously. "Does this look like a ruse? Look Servalan, we don't have to time to argue. Orac comes with me, but if it's any comfort you can have the key." He reached into his jacket, pulling out a familiar small square key, and pushed it into Servalan's outstretched hand. "Satisfied?" Servalan nodded. Leaning past her, Avon punched the key pad on the nearest capsule. The access panel slid open and Avon helped her inside the cramped padded interior, fastening the harness securely around her shoulders.

"I'll see you on the ground," he promised, leaning inside, his lips meeting hers in a stinging kiss. She lifted her fearful eyes to meet and was rewarded by a reassuring smile. "We have unfinished business," he added softly. Then he pulled away, his hand simultaneously reaching up above the capsule to the launch controls. At the touch of the first button, the access panel slid into place and there was a harsh hiss as the capsule pressurised. A second later a light on the panel flickered green and Avon slammed his palm against the broad red launch button. There was a loud bang as the capsule hatch blew open, followed by a drawn out grating sound as the capsule was sucked into space.

Avon leant back against the opposite capsule. It would be so easy to stay here. Let the last of the air be sucked from his lungs, welcome the oblivion. All he had to do was sit there.

"THIRTY SECONDS OF LIFE SUPPORT REMAINING," Orac informed him.

Avon blinked. He had to leave. What he had told Servalan was true, they had unfinished business and after so long was he actually contemplating leaving this unresolved? The lack of oxygen was making it difficult to think clearly, clouding his judgement. He had to get out of there now. Determinedly he reached above and behind him, his fingers finding the control keypad almost of their own volition. The access panel slid back, revealing the dark cocoon of safety within. After a moment's hesitation, he manhandled the heavy metal box inside, noting with dismay that it took up a large amount of the available space. It would not be a comfortable ride down. He suddenly became aware that the corridor had fallen silent, the soft almost imperceptible hiss of the life support system now absent. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, trying to gather the last of the air in his lungs, he quickly typed a command code into the key pad to set the automatic launch timer. Fifteen seconds. Taking a last glance down the corridor, he raised his hand almost in a salute of farewell and climbed inside, angling his body to fit alongside the metal case. In the corridor he could hear Orac counting down to the launch. Eleven, ten, nine. The outer hatch slid closed and there was the welcome breeze of cool fresh air filling the small pace. Taking deep calming breaths he strapped himself in the harness, feeling the oxygen start to clear his befuddled mind. The reality of the journey ahead struck him. He had taken this ride once before and, although he had been unconscious the last time, he had the instinctive knowledge that his body hadn't liked it one bit. Lying back in the seat, he forced himself to relax. Orac's countdown suddenly transferred to the internal speakers and Avon smiled at the dry almost bored tone of the computers voice. He would miss it. Four, three, two, one. There was a harsh grating sound of the clamps disengaging, the blinding flare of the thrusters through the small viewing port and then silence.

With the residual green starburst imprinted on his retina, it took Avon almost a full minute to recognise the red warning light flashing on the small control console an arms-length away. He didn't need to check the small display to know what was wrong. The increasing whining roar of the friction created between the skin of the capsule and the outer atmosphere of the planet below told him he was coming in too steep and too fast. Caught in the gravitational pull of the planet, the temperature on the outside of the capsule would soon reach several thousand degrees. If he didn't slow down and reduce his angle of descent, he would burn up.

Fighting against the extreme G-forces pushing him back into the seat he leant forward, his fingers outstretched, fumbling for the auto-correct button he knew was positioned just below the light. For a few seconds his finger searched vainly, while from the corner of his eye he could see the port become obscured by a shower of golden sparks erupting from the hull. Where was the button? Who had decided that having the emergency controls on the opposite side of the capsule was a good idea? Suddenly his fingers met with the smooth rounded surface of the button and with relief Avon pushed it. The capsule did not seem to noticeably slow in response, but as he watched the intensity of the sparks seemed to decline. Inside the capsule the change in angle of decent was accompanied by a sudden increase in the G-forces pressing down on him. He struggled to remain conscious, his vision blurring as his head began to swim. With a final thought that it would be tragically ironic if Servalan or he did not survive the landing, he passed out.

* * *

The capsules flared red in the dark sky. Shooting stars, symbols of the gods. There were no worshippers on the planet below, only a few small mammal-like creatures who darted for cover as the bullet shaped vessels ploughed into the deep forest, tearing livid wounds in the lush greenery. They came to rest barely half a mile apart, partly buried in the mossy dirt like eggs cocooned in a nest. Shrill calls of birds, wakened from their night's rest, rose in a deafening crescendo of protest. The cacophony rang out for several moments and then one by one the voices died. Silence returned to the planet. Far above, gleaming silver in the night sky, the _Liberator_ waited. After several minutes, the ship turned away from the light of the sun and vanished into the darkness.


	19. The Distant Drums

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_The Distant Drums_

The all-enveloping blackness began to fade, replaced by a indistinct jumble of blurred outlines picked out in shades of grey. Avon squeezed his eyes tightly shut, opening them again with an accompanying shake of the head. The sudden movement sent a barrage of sharp shooting pains to his temples and down his shoulders and arms and he groaned in a muted curse of pain. Holding his head steady he blinked half a dozen times, each blink bringing the dim interior of the escape capsule into sharper lines. He focused on a green light that pulsated in a steady rhythm on the console in front of him, telling him that the air outside was safe to breathe. Not that he had much choice, the display next to the light showed that the capsule's emergency air supply was almost exhausted, and in a matter of minutes air would be drawn into the capsule from outside. Through the small view port Avon could make out little more than a pale green glow, indicating that he must have landed deep in the thick vegetation of the planet.

The capsule had come to rest half on its side and Avon was aware of the heavy metal box pressing down on his legs. From his slumped position his free hand couldn't relieve the pressure and so, his movements slow and cautious, he tried to ease his other hand from beneath him where it lay trapped by his own body weight. After a few moments he worked his hand free, the agonizing tingle of pins and needles shooting up his arm as the blood supply resumed into the limb.

"Bloody hell," he swore, feeling vaguely surprised at the sound of his own voice. He flexed his arm carefully, slowly and repeatedly curling his hand into a slack fist until the feeling subsided, then unbuckled the harness holding him in his seat. He fell forward against the wall of the capsule, using his hands to brace himself. Behind him he felt the metal case give slightly as his legs moved from under it, but to his relief the straps he had used to secure the case in the capsule stayed firm, preventing it from crashing down on top of him.

Free of the harness, Avon shifted position until he was sat on the side panelling of the capsule, the hatch directly above his head. It was a good job the shuttle hadn't come to rest on its other side, he thought wryly, otherwise he'd have been trapped. Whichever one of the System's designers had been responsible for the escape capsules clearly hadn't been as gifted as the one who had designed the rest of the _Liberator_. Reaching above his head he activated the door release mechanism. There was a sharp hiss of escaping air as the hatch popped free of its fastenings. Avon pushed at the hatch, sending it sliding down the outer hull of the capsule with a hideous screech of metal on metal that set Avon's teeth on edge. There was a soft thud as it landed on the soft ground which cocooned the capsule. Avon stood up slowly, poking his head up through the open hatchway, every muscle in his body protesting the effort. Above him the sky was hidden by a canopy of tall, deep green trees, hung through with thick fleshy vines. From the pale green light filtering down, he guessed it was early morning, there was an almost crisp quality to the light and chill to the air that evoked memories of waking up under a forest canopy on rare childhood camping trips. He took several deep breaths, filling his lungs and luxuriating in the ability to breathe clean sweet-smelling air that had not been filtered and recycled a million times over.

Listening carefully he turned on the spot, scanning the surrounding forest more out of habit than necessity. Orac had assured him that the planet was uninhabited by anything larger than a smallish earth mammal, say a dog or a sheep. Certainly nothing human. Small and undistinguished by any form of useful mineral or asset, the planet had been passed on by the Federation and Orac had assessed that it was too early in the planet's evolution to be inhabited by any large predators. Some might have called it paradise. Avon knew otherwise, but for the moment it was peaceful. He doubted it would remain so.

As he expected he saw and heard nothing other than the gentle sway of vegetation in the light breeze that seemed to penetrate even this far down and the occasional bird call far in the distance. To Avon, used to the ever present hum of computers and life support systems, not to mention the seemingly incessant chatter of his colleagues, there was something almost eerie about the lack of noise; it was as though someone had muted the volume control on the world. He coughed, the noise startling a number of birds roosting high above. There was a twitter of answering calls breaking the silence and with a smile, which owed more than a little to relief at this sign of normalcy, Avon crouched down back into the capsule.

Bracing the box against his knees he released the straps securing it, taking the weight against his chest. He slid his hands up the sides until he found the metal handles lying flush against the sides and grasped them, pushing up with his knees to lift the box up and out of the hatch. Resting the case on the lip of the hatch, keeping it steady with one hand, Avon climbed up out of the hatch, using the console as a step. He slid down onto the forest floor, his thick soled boots sinking slightly in the mossy surface, and lifted the box down beside him. Crouching down he snapped open the latches and lifted the lid to examine the contents.

The interior of Orac's box had been carefully converted to contain a number of compartments. A selection of primitive hand tools lay next to a variety of containers holding what appeared to be foil sachets. With relief Avon noted that none of his carefully prepared provisions appeared to have been damaged in the descent. Lifting out the top layer of containers his eyes searched the layer beneath. He pulled out a roll of padded silver fabric and unwound it to reveal a small slim metal case, a small hand-held scanner and a clear perspex box in which a red light flashed intermittently, accompanied by a low familiar hum.

Pushing the scanner and perspex box to one side, he fingered the metal case contemplatively. After a moment he slid back the lid and smiled at the sight of the contents sitting intact in their protective foam compartment. Sliding the lid back in place he slipped the case into the breast pocket of his jacket and turned his attention to the perspex box. Turning it over in his hand several times, he stared at the flashing light, seemingly mesmerised. Finally he lifted it, tapping the edge against his bottom lip, his finger hovering over a small button set into the top next to the flashing light. Then with a twisted smile he raised his hand and brought the perspex box down hard on the side of the metal case. Shards of clear plastic splintered outwards, one catching Avon's cheek, bringing a spot of red to the surface. Avon touched his face with his fingertips and then looked at the spot of blood smeared across them. Wiping his fingers clean with his thumb, he let the remains of the perspex box fall unheeded to the ground. He was about to reach for the scanner when he noticed a flash of white amongst the discarded silver fabric. His twisted smile turning into one of deep sadness, he plucked a folded white card from amongst the folds and tucked it into his top pocket next to the metal case.

Returning the compartments to the box he closed the lid, securing the latches, and sat down on it, picking up the hand-held scanner and regarding the screen with reluctance. On the tiny square display a motionless red dot showed the location of the other life capsule. Avon knew it was time to go looking for Servalan, but the desire to remain alone with his thoughts, with no need to act out the role he'd created for himself kept him glued to his makeshift seat. For the first time he looked down at the chronometer on his wrist. He'd been unconscious a good while, almost six hours. The _Liberator_ would almost have reached Gauda Prime by now and then the battle would begin in earnest. But he had done his part for that war; now he just had his own left to fight. A fight which he knew in his heart would be impossible to win.

Sighing, he got to his feet. It was time to go. Turning on the spot he watched the screen carefully until the red dot appeared to be directly in front of him. Switching the scanner to a steady audible beep which quickened if he turned away from the direction of the red dot, he fastened the scanner to his belt, freeing his hands so he could lift the metal case. Without even a backwards glance at the capsule he set out in the direction indicated by the scanner, almost immediately swallowed by the dense vegetation.

* * *

The bombardment of the mountain settlements was over. Blake and Sartok had watched in silence as the scanners had displayed a barrage of missiles leave the battle cruiser. Sartok's face had been horrified, tears of disbelief rolling silently down his cheeks. Blake's features may have well been made of stone, betraying no emotion. Only a muscle working furiously in one cheek and his hands clenched in tight fists at his side revealed the fury he was trying to keep in check. They had no way of knowing if the missiles hit their targets, as the mountain settlements were out of range of their ground scanners, but Blake was in no doubt that the Federation had wiped them from existence. They were nothing if not thorough. At that moment the comms crackled into life. It was Space Commander Velmek.

"Blake, your continued defiance of the Federation has just cost six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-four innocent civilians their lives. Their deaths are on your head. It will give you something to think about as I obliterate you and your rebel hoard from Gauda Prime."

Blake tensed but replied in a smooth voice, "Have you forgotten Commissioner Sleer, Velmek?"

"I have received instructions from High Command, Blake. They've decided that Commissioner Sleer is already dead. I have no reason to wait."

There was a sharp hiss, indicating that Velmek had closed the comms channel. Sartok turned to Blake, his face ashen.

"Blake, what are we going to do?"

Blake didn't answer. All through this confrontation with Velmek, his eyes had remained fixed on the long range scanner.

At first he'd thought he'd imagined it. A flicker of green at the far edge of the screen, visible for a fleeting second. A few seconds later the green dot appeared again, flashing in and out of the extreme limits of the long range detectors. Blake smiled slowly. It was the prearranged signal. Avon and the _Liberator_ had arrived. And just in time, Blake thought wryly, as Velmek's final words and Sartok's panicked question filtered through.

"The _Liberator_'s here," he said to Sartok, watching as the younger man's face slackened in visible relief.

"Where?" Sartok asked urgently, stepping closer to Blake so he could see the display.

"Quadrant four. Just outside the detector range." Blake pointed at the top right of the screen. "Avon made a couple of passes into range as promised. I only just caught them. There has been no movement within the Federation fleet. They don't know he is here."

Sartok smiled in anticipation of victory.

Blake caught a glimpse of his expression. "The war isn't over yet, Sartok. There are over nine-tenths of the Federation fleet stationed around this planet. We've got a hundred ships and the _Liberator_. They are hardly even odds. However with any luck the amount of fighting should be negligible. If everything goes according to plan," Blake explained enigmatically.

"Just what is the plan?" Sartok asked. Blake had not been forthcoming with what exactly was going to happen.

Blake glanced at the counter. Ten minutes to go.

"In just over eleven minutes all will become clear, Sartok," Blake said. "I just hope Velmek doesn't make his move until then. After all, he might have permission to go for the kill from High Command but there are a lot of officers up there loyal to Sleer. He's going to have to have some convincing arguments to get them to attack. Hopefully it should give us the time we need. Sartok, tell the ground crew and pilots to make ready. We launch in 10 minutes."

* * *

The _Liberator_ moved into position above the fleet. If anyone had been on board to see, the detector screens would have appeared almost white, a blizzard of Federation targets on the limits of the detector range. The ship waited, hovering like a bird of prey ready to dive onto its quarry. The ships below, intent on preparing for the imminent destruction of Blake's forces on the planet, were oblivious to the danger from above.

Inside the deserted _Liberator_ the seconds were counted off, Orac's voice echoing unnecessarily through the empty corridors and cabins,

"FIFTEEN SECONDS TO ATTACK RUN. MAIN BLASTERS CLEARED FOR FIRING. FORCE WALL STANDING BY. TEN. NINE. EIGHT. SEVEN. SIX. FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. ATTACK RUN COMMENCED."

* * *

On Carillion Rhiannon and Vila sat at either end of a table in Rhiannon's quarters, between them the flashing, humming form of Orac. Shortly after Vila's arrival they had made the decision to keep Orac's presence on Carillion a secret, at least for the moment. First Rhiannon, then Vila, had stayed by Orac's side, hoping for some contact from Avon. But there had been nothing, just the perpetual hum which showed it was active. A few hours earlier there had been a break in the hum; for a whole minute the room had been plunged into silence. Then the hum had resumed, as steady and monotonous as before. Neither Vila or Rhiannon could guess at the meaning of the silence but Avon's instructions had been clear and so Vila had bitten his lip and swallowed his anxious questions.

Then minutes ago Orac had spoken, informing Vila of the _Liberator_'s arrival at Gauda Prime. A hurried call to Rhiannon brought her back to her quarters, her face flushed with anticipation, only for it to pale as she realised that the voice emanating from Orac was not that of Avon but only the machine broadcasting its preparations to attack. Vila and Rhiannon listened in silence as the countdown echoed around the cave, knowing that it could well signal the beginning of the end of the Federation. As the countdown reached one, Rhiannon's hand sought Vila's across the table. He took it squeezing hard, his own anxiety making his grip painful, but she didn't pull away.

There was a beat of silence and then Avon's tones rang clear around the room,

"Fire!"

Rhiannon turned ashen, and shaking lowered her eyes to the floor, not wanting to meet Vila's gaze.

Vila closed his eyes and lowered his head onto his arms, burying his face, hiding the tears which had sprung unbidden at the sound of Avon's voice. So cool, so calm, utterly devoid of emotion. There was no fear. Avon's voice was that of a man who knew he was about to die and cared not one iota. Vila knew that all Avon cared about was personally delivering Servalan into the jaws of oblivion. He did not know why Orac had chosen to relay that command, but he wished with all his soul that it had not. That single word would echo in his ears until his dying day.

* * *

The _Liberator_ swooped down on its prey, the neutron blasters firing indiscriminately into the throng of the orbiting fleet. Every shot seemed to score a direct hit, the formations of Federation ships jammed too close together to avoid the blasts. Several ships exploded as the fleet began to break up, preparing to swing round for its counter attack. The exploding ships, appearing as brilliant flashes of light billowing outwards, set up a chain reaction, those too close being themselves destroyed. And the billowing cloud of fire and debris flared still brighter, consuming everything in its path. Federation pursuit ships, being faster and more manoeuvrable, slipped out of formation, turning to face the might of the _Liberator_. Without slowing the _Liberator_ ploughed into the swarm.

* * *

"What the hell is it, Commander?" Teever yelled as the ship rocked with another explosion. "The rebels don't have anything that powerful." The young captain's face was white with fear, as he found his training had left him unprepared for the realities of being on a ship under attack. Even as he spoke, a shower of sparks erupted from the console beside him, forcing him to stumble backwards to avoid the white hot cascade.

Velmek stood staring at the monitor, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "It's the _Liberator_. It was supposed to have been destroyed."

"The _Liberator_? You mean Blake's ship? I remember being shown the vid-casts during training. Her abilities are legendary. But who's flying her? Blake's down on the planet." Teever looked at the swathe of destruction the _Liberator_ was cutting through the fleet and swallowed. He had every faith that the Federation fleet could take care of whatever ships the Rebels on Gauda Prime had to throw at them, but the _Liberator_? Just the name sent a shiver of cold fear down his spine. The _Liberator_ had held off an entire invading alien fleet single-handed...

Velmek saw the frisson of fear cross Teever's face and scowled.

"You fool. The _Liberator_ is just a ship. It can be destroyed like any other," he snapped. "Teever, break orbit on my word and prepare to attack the _Liberator_ head on." Studying the monitor for a moment he stabbed a long finger on the comms button, hailing the fleet. "Groups Two, Three, Four and Six, this is Group One leader. Take up standard attack formation against the _Liberator_. Prepare for the Dantos manoeuvre. Group Five, hold here and watch out for other rebel ships. Blake's no fool, he'll use the distraction of the _Liberator_ to deploy his ships from the surface." Velmek released the comms button and leaned back in his command chair, swinging round to face the forward view screen where the battle was displayed as spectacular flashes of colour. "Well, boy, this is your lucky day. Not many new officers get the chance to destroy the _Liberator_ and the rebels in one day." With a predatory smile, the commander gave the order to attack.

* * *

Wave after wave of Federation pursuit ships swooped down after the larger ship, each wave of ships configured in the familiar standard three-ship attack formation. For several seconds it appeared that they were merely following the ship, then the waves spread out, forming a matrix, a wall of ships ten ships wide and an equal number high. After a moment they moved again, a perfectly choreographed dance of metal, until the wall had somehow formed a bowl shape which seemed to cradle the _Liberator_. Simultaneously they fired, a barrage of plasma bolts pouring into the kill zone at the centre of the formation creating a blazing curtain of light. Suddenly, with an accompanying thrust of speed, the _Liberator_ spun, the three prongs of the ship rotating around the central core. The plasma bolts reached their target, or more accurately where the target had been. Most of the barrage missed the gleaming metal which had seemed such an easy target, travelling beyond the _Liberator_ and into the Federation ships still in formation beyond. The sky lit up with explosions as the ships exploded. But not all of the plasma bolts could miss, and several impacted with the force wall, sending the _Liberator_ spinning off course, towards the atmosphere of the planet.

* * *

"We hit it," Teever shouted in triumph, jumping up from his chair.

"We should have destroyed it," Velmek said sourly, turning a disparaging eye on the officer beside him. "We also managed to destroy over a dozen of our own ships at the same time. Or did you not notice that, Teever?"

The captain flushed beetroot. "I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled, sinking back into his chair behind the tactical command console.

"Never mind. We've crippled her at least. Groups Four and Six, follow me in. Group Five, remain here. Cut off the _Liberator_'s escape if she recovers from the spin," the commander ordered sharply. Teever lowered his head and sank even further into his chair.

* * *

On Gauda Prime Blake watched the view screen in disbelief. Whatever game Avon was playing with the Federation up there, it was suicidal. If the _Liberator_ was destroyed with Orac and Avon on board, the rest of the plan could not possibly succeed. Blake swore at Avon beneath his breath. If Avon had jeopardized this attack through some outdated notion of revenge..., he thought savagely, he would kill Avon himself, assuming the Federation didn't do it first.

"Sartok, try and contact the _Liberator_ again. I want to know what the hell Avon is playing at," he ordered.

Sartok nodded and pushed several buttons on the communications console. After several moments he shook his head,

"I'm sorry Blake, there's nothing there but static. Maybe the plasma bolts knocked out their transmission capabilities," Sartok apologised.

"Probably. Listen, send this message anyway, they might be able to hear us. Tell Avon to pull out now. We need the _Liberator_ more than we need to destroy those ships at the moment. And tell our ships to launch. Try to take some heat off the _Liberator_. I doubt it will work but we haven't got anything to lose," Blake said sourly.

"We could lose some of our ships, Blake. There are few enough of them as it is," Sartok pointed out worriedly.

"Sartok, if we lose the _Liberator_ it won't matter how many ships we have. We will be finished...for good." Sartok blanched, but remained silent. He turned back to the console and opened a channel to the rebel ships. In a voice which seemed remarkably tremor free, he gave the order to launch.

* * *

The _Liberator_ was in free-fall, spinning end over end, nearing the atmosphere of the planet. The hull temperature began to rise, the white metal taking on a rosy glow. To those on the Command carrier, the ship seemed to shimmer. A few more seconds and the ship would burn up. Velmek smiled. Bringing down the _Liberator_ would ensure his promotion. Eagerly he urged Teever to bring the command carrier forward, flanked on all sides by a halo of pursuit ships. The _Liberator_ was doomed, that much was obvious, but he felt the need to personally deliver the final blow, a single plasma bolt that would rip the heart from the ship. Then incredibly, impossibly, the balletic pirouettes of the _Liberator_ seemed to lengthen and slow, the tumbling ship coming almost to a standstill. On the final spin it steadied, its elegant prongs pointing directly at the command carrier, its neutron blasters locked onto the Federation ships which had followed it. Too late Velmek realised his mistake and ordered Teever to retreat. There was nowhere for them to go. Below was the atmosphere of the planet, above the barricade of the fleet in orbit. The only way out was the way they had come in and that was effectively blocked by the pursuit ships of Groups Four and Six behind them. He watched in seething anger as pursuit ships began to turn, fleeing the might of the _Liberator_. He knew the command carrier was too big and cumbersome to make the turn. He was trapped.

"_Liberator_ approaching, course zero zero zero. Impact in twenty seconds," Teever announced his voice almost a whisper.

"Fire plasma bolts on my mark, Teever. Everything we've got. The least we can do is take it with us. Mark." Velmek watched silently as a swarm of plasma bolts left the ship on a direct course with the _Liberator_. A second later he saw them explode, ripping a hole in the _Liberator_'s hull. He was allowed a moment's satisfaction before one of the _Liberator_'s prongs tore into the command carrier. There was a howling rush of air as the command deck depressurised, tearing metal and fittings from the walls and consoles to swirl around the flight deck in a lethal maelstrom of debris. He clung to the arms of his chair as the last of the air was swept from his lungs. His last conscious thought was that he could hear Teever screaming as he was swept towards the hull breach and into space, and he felt a wave of pity.

The command deck was torn apart by a massive explosion as the engines reached critical. The wave of flame travelled through the remains of the command carrier, vaporising the metal. Then it travelled on, up the prong of the _Liberator_ which had skewered the ship. On and on, metal reduced to molten droplets, showers of debris scattered in its wake, twisted into beautiful intricate patterns by the movement of the _Liberator_ as it ploughed on. The explosion consumed the _Liberator_, enveloping it in a blinding haze of white light that glittered like a new star, brilliant in the heavens. The light faded, the smoke and debris dispelled, as if raising the curtain on the carnage left behind. There was nothing; no sign the two ships had ever existed, only a wake of destroyed and damaged pursuit ships ever proclaiming their presence.

* * *

Blake and Sartok watched the screen in silence. On the monitor, the destruction of the _Liberator_ had been reduced to a computerised flash of light. For several moments Sartok dared not look at Blake. When he did, he wished he hadn't. Blake stared blankly at the screen, his face ashen, his scar horrifically livid on the pale skin. He gave no indication that he had even registered the smattering of green blips on the display which proclaimed the arrival of the Rebel ships.

"Too late," he whispered, almost to himself. "Just one more bloody minute, Avon. You should have waited just one more minute. Now it's all gone." He slumped against the back rest of his chair as it hit home that his carefully planned scheme had been reduced to ashes. Without the _Liberator_, without Avon and Orac, the orbiting fleet would remain a force capable of restoring order to the Federation, even with the neutralisation of the Pacification Programme. Oh yes, it would be an irritation for the Federation for a while, and some of the outer planets would remain free; but the core planets, Earth, they would fall back under Federation control in a matter of days or weeks. He'd failed. The Federation had won... again. Even the knowledge that Servalan had perished in the _Liberator_'s destruction gave him no comfort. There would always be another Servalan, he had merely freed up the position of dictator for another power hungry madman.

His eyes flickered dully to the display where he saw a host of new explosions light up the screen as the rebel ships began to engage the fleet circling the planet. He closed his eyes but he knew the memory of that single flash would be imprinted in his mind for ever.

"Sartok," he said finally, his voice quiet with defeat. "Call them back. They can't do any good there now. They will be destroyed for nothing."

"With all due respect Blake," Sartok said softly with a sad shake of his head, "they've waited a long time for this opportunity. I don't think they would come back to base even if I ordered them."

Blake nodded wearily and rose to his feet, his movements that of an old man. "They're fools...or maybe I'm the fool for believing we had a chance and sending them up there in the first place. They're going to die, whether it's up there or down here I guess makes no difference. Call me when the Federation start their main ground assault. I'll be in my quarters."

* * *

"ALL CONTACT WITH THE _LIBERATOR_ HAS NOW CEASED."

Orac's stark pronouncement was a gunshot in the silence. Vila raised his head to look uncomprehendingly at the perspex box, its insides thrumming in never-ending waves of light. He met Rhiannon's eyes, held them.

"What do you mean?" he said slowly. He knew he had given Avon his promise not to interrogate Orac until the battle was over, but the machine had spoken first; and he had to know.

"ALL CONTACT WITH THE _LIBERATOR_ HAS NOW CEASED," Orac repeated. "THE _LIBERATOR_ IS NO LONGER UNDER MY CONTROL. ANALYSIS OF AVAILABLE DATA CONFIRMS THAT THE _LIBERATOR_ HAS BEEN DESTROYED."

As Vila watched he saw the last spark of hope die in Rhiannon's eyes, replaced by a grief so intense that he could hardly bear to hold her gaze. But he did and could see from the expression on her face that what he had seen in her eyes was mirrored in his.

"Rhiannon." His lips could barely form the word. He could hear his own voice as though it were coming from a distance and Orac's hum was strangely muffled, drowned out by the relentless pounding of his heart in his chest. A rising scream of anguish knotted in his throat, fighting its way to the surface, and he swallowed painfully to try and quell it. "Rhiannon," he repeated. _What could he say?_ They both knew it. Avon was dead.

She held out a hand, warding off his words, and silently rose to her feet, back straight, chin held high. For a moment Vila thought she was going to speak but instead she took a deep shuddering breath in which Vila could hear the tremor of a sob, turned on her heel and walked out of the door without a backwards glance.

For a moment Vila sat there at the table, his eyes blindly fixed on Orac's flashing lights, his palms pressed flat to the coarse wood surface, trying to make them feel something... anything to drive away the terrifying numbness stealing through his limbs. The scream pushed its way up once more coalescing in his mouth like a physical bolus of emotion, choking him. Unsteadily he got to his feet and, retreating to the far side of the room, sank to the floor, cocooning himself in the narrow gap between the high base of the bed and the rough wall behind. He pulled one of the heavy brocade cushions after him, resting it on his raised knees and, burying his head in the soft worn material, he let the scream come.


	20. The OneEyed Man Is King

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_...The One Eyed Man Is King_

In the control room on Carillion, Nagor was monitoring the communications net. So far all he had heard was chatter, short bursts of messages as rebel cells on Carillion and other planets in the quadrant made final preparations. The message he was hoping for had not yet arrived and the waiting was making him nervous. At consoles to either side, men and women sat silently monitoring long range transmissions on headsets.

"Any report from Gauda Prime?" he asked a young woman sat to his left.

She shook her head. "No, sir. Just static."

Nagor grimaced.

"The _Liberator_ has been destroyed." Rhiannon's voice was soft. Nagor looked sharply across to the door. She had moved so silently, he hadn't heard her approach.

"How can you possibly know?" Nagor asked gently, taking in her wide haunted eyes and ashen colour. If it were not for her vibrant red hair cascading about her shoulders and vivid green eyes swimming with unshed tears he would have thought her a ghost. "We've had no communications from Gauda Prime."

"I just know. Kerr Avon is dead."

"I'm sorry, Rhiannon," Nagor said gently. There was something about the way she spoke that left him in no doubt that Rhiannon spoke the truth. However she had found out, and that was clearly something she was not about to divulge, he was convinced the _Liberator_, and Kerr Avon, had been destroyed. He moved to place a comforting arm about her shoulder but she drew back, barely suppressing a visible flinch at the thought of being touched. Nagor stepped back with an understanding nod.

At that moment the communicator beside him crackled into life.

"Control? This is Verril. The compound worked. We're ready to launch our attack on the Federation post in Sector Two. Over."

Nagor turned to Rhiannon and gave her a brief smile. "It's working," he said thankfully. "Daelus is ready to rise once more."

* * *

In Daelus, Carillion's capital, the people, long under the influence of the Pylene 50 drug, began to awake. Confused and dazed, they moved onto the streets of the city, wandering like herds of cattle unsure of where to go or what to do. It was there that the rebel leaders found them, leading them to warehouses, explaining what needed to be done, arming them. Within one hour of the altered Pylene 50 being administered to the masses, the masses were ready to fight.

Federation officials watched in stunned disbelief as crowds of people marched towards the administration building. The rebels were chanting, armed with guns in some cases, but more often with hand tools, metal bars, anything they could lay their hands on. There was no one to protect the Federation now. With the introduction of Pylene 50, there had been no need for squadrons of troops on the ground anymore, only a small number of soldiers to protect the administrative buildings. The few guards there were managed to fire off only a handful of shots before being swallowed up by the advancing army of rebels, their guns commandeered by those who struck them down. The officials listened as the crowd reached the entrance, beating on the metal door with axes, clubs, even their fists. It was only a matter of time until they got in. The men looked at one another and sat down. There was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

The events occurring on Carillion were being repeated on hundreds of other planets freed from the hold of the Pylene 50. As the inhabitants of the planets regained their free-will, one by one Federation strongholds fell, the Federation officers taken prisoner or shot. Some planets, like Carillion, were easily won, there was little military, and no resistance. For some however the battle was harder, more costly, and hundreds of rebels died to achieve freedom.

Blake listened with little joy to the reports coming in. With the military still intact it was only a matter of time before the old order resumed. It would be smaller, a lot of damage had been done, but it would be there nonetheless. He looked around the room sadly. He had not thought it would end like this. His rebel fleet had put up a good fight and had destroyed a number of ships but their numbers were steadily diminishing, picked off one by one. It was almost as though the Federation were toying with them, like a cat does a mouse before it goes for the kill. He was under no illusions, as soon as his few remaining ships were destroyed, what remained of the Federation fleet would wipe the base he now sat in from the face of Gauda Prime. For what had also become clear was that some of the Federation ships were preparing to break orbit. The reports of rebellion which had reached his ears would be reaching theirs as well and they would be leaving within minutes to try and restore order on key worlds.

They had had a real chance this time and they had lost it. In the last hour since the _Liberator_ had been destroyed, he had tried hard to blame Avon for their failure, but found he could not. In Avon he had lost a friend, one with whom he felt his life had been inseparably linked, and the grief of losing his friend at that moment far outweighed his grief at losing the war. The war he had spent the best, or worst, part of his life fighting. Blake spared a thought for Vila, Dayna and Soolin, whether they knew that the _Liberator_ had been destroyed, whether they were still alive at all.

* * *

Vila might have been alive but he wished with all his heart that he was dead. For an hour he had remained in his refuge behind Rhiannon's bed. Once the scream had died, leaving his throat raw and aching, the tears had followed, hot and bitter, soaking the material of the cushion still pressed to his face. Finally even the tears had dried up, the dreadful numbness which had started in his limbs finally replaced by a tight band of physical pain imprisoning his chest. Kerr was dead. His churning thoughts flinched from the idea. It was impossible. Even as he had said farewell to Kerr on the _Liberator_, when his head told him that he would never see Avon again, a part of him had refused to accept it. The part, lodged deep in his heart, that knew for absolute certainty that he and Kerr were destined to die together. But he'd been wrong. Kerr had died alone, without him, and for a split second Vila hated him for shattering that belief. For leaving him alone in the world.

"Damn you, Kerr," he whispered to the empty room, his voice fracturing as Avon's name passed his lips. "Why couldn't you let me go with you?"

"Vila?"

Nagor's light tones suddenly erupted from the teleport bracelet still clasped about his wrist, startling him.

Vila stared with revulsion at the bracelet and fought the urge to tear it from his arm and send it flying across the room. He just wanted to be left alone. The impending battle with the Federation had been reduced to nothing more than white noise compared to the tolling funeral bells of the _Liberator_'s destruction clamouring in every corner of his mind. It didn't matter now if they won or lost, as far as Vila was concerned everything was lost now.

"Vila, we're getting the first reports in from Daelus," Nagor reported. "The altered Pylene 50 compound is working."

"That's good news," Vila said dully, surprised that his raw, aching throat was capable of making any noise at all. "Is Rhiannon with you?" He knew he would have to speak to her eventually but not now; he couldn't face her yet.

"She was," Nagor said slowly. "She said... Vila, I've just had a message from Gauda Prime, the _Liberator_ was destroyed. I'm sorry." Nagor's tone was sad and respectful, but Vila knew that, as far as Nagor was concerned, Vila was nothing more that Avon's colleague and friend. His true grief was for Rhiannon, being the only other person on Carillion who knew of her feelings towards Avon. And that was how it should be, Vila thought sadly. She would need someone to support her, and it couldn't be him. Not now. It would be too hard.

"Thank you for letting me know," Vila replied in stilted tones. He still wasn't about to reveal Orac's presence. He might not be able to keep his promise to Avon about looking after Rhiannon, but keeping Orac safe was one promise he had every intention of fulfilling. The rude, insensitive box of circuitry was the last link he had with his lover and he would never let that go.

"Where is Rhiannon now?" he continued finally, aware that the communication channel with Nagor was still open.

He could hear Nagor's deep sigh. "I don't know, she ran off into the complex. She was distraught. I'd like to go and look for her. Could you come up and take control while I search?"

"I..." Every fibre of Vila's being wanted to say no. The thought of leaving the safety of his refuge and facing the world outside was terrifying. People would know, just by the look on his face, that Avon had been more than a mere friend and colleague. "I'm coming now," he said hesitantly, committing himself before he could change his mind.

He barely heard Nagor thank him and sign off. Lifting the cushion from his knees and placing it on the bed beside him he slowly and unsteadily climbed to his feet. Almost like an automaton he crossed the room, lifting Orac from its perch on the table and depositing it in the space he'd just vacated behind the bed. Steeling himself, he left the refuge of Rhiannon's quarters and headed to the control room.

On his arrival he was relieved as Nagor, his concern for Rhiannon obvious, barely spared him a glance, hurrying from the control room with a mere wave of thanks. Vila cast a sweeping glance around the control room, taking care not to meet anyone's eyes. He needn't have worried. Apart from Nagor there were only two others present, a young woman, her long black hair drawn back in a tight plait, her brow furrowed in concentration, and a older, rather intense man, who was peering over a pair of antique half-moon glasses at a string of numbers scrolling over the screen. As Vila watched they both yawned in unison. Vila realised that they must have been on shift for hours and, although in the caverns there was no concept of day or night, a quick look at the chronometer on the opposite wall told him that it was late in the evening.

"Why don't you both take a break?" he suggested kindly. "I can manage here for half an hour or so." They clearly needed to rest, and it would give him a bit of solitude to try and wrangle his emotions into something that didn't leave him wanting to scream with every breath he took.

The young woman nodded gratefully and got to her feet. For a moment it looked like the old man might refuse but after a moment he too gave a weary nod and followed the young woman out of the door. With a sigh of relief Vila closed the door behind them and sank into the comms chair Nagor had vacated. Crossing his arms flat across the console, he lowered his head onto them, hiding his face from the harsh lights.

* * *

Lost in painful thoughts, Vila almost missed the faint transmission, weak and breaking up with static. The words were unclear but the voice was familiar. Snapping to attention, he adjusted the transmission band, trying to lock on and intensify the signal. After several tense seconds the voice became clearer, and although still faint, the words were now more distinct.

"Vila, you idiot. Wake up, this is Dayna."

The insult didn't even register. "Dayna, are you alright?" Vila's voice was dull.

"Vila, I'm a walking icicle. What do you think?" Dayna's sarcastic retort cut through the static, coming through loud and clear.

"Sorry," Vila apologised absently, not really listening. "Did you win?" Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

"Eventually." Dayna's voice sounded tired. "The fighting was fierce, we lost a lot of men, but we got the bastards in the end." When Vila did not comment, she asked, "Have you heard from Soolin or Avon?"

Vila didn't reply. A deep shuddering breath wracked his frame.

"Vila?" Dayna's voice now held a trace of panic.

"We haven't heard from Soolin yet. We're expecting a transmission any moment," Vila said quietly.

"And Avon?"

"Avon's dead." Even with the weak transmission Vila could hear Dayna's gasp of shock.

"Vila...I...I'm sorry." There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah." There didn't seem to be anything else to say. "When are you coming back here?"

"First chance I get," Dayna said quickly. "Vila...I..." She trailed off helplessly. What could she say? Whatever her feelings were about Avon, she knew that Vila had just lost the man he loved. There was nothing she could say that would give him any comfort.

Vila took pity on her. "Come home soon, Dayna.," he said softly. "Be careful. Carillion out."

The soft hiss of transmission died, leaving the control room in silence.

Vila slumped back in his chair, his breath coming in short gasps, the mention of Avon and Dayna's pitying tone threatening to break through the fragile wall keeping his emotions in check.

He turned away from the communications console to look around the empty control room.

A Federation issue gun was pointed directly in his face.

Vila blanched and slowly allowed his eyes to travel upwards to the face of his would-be assailant. He saw a tall well-built man, cruel black eyes filled with malevolent satisfaction glittering from a heavily lined face fixed in a forbidding stare. One hand was clasped around the gun pointed unwaveringly at Vila's head, the other holding a long slender white arm in a vice-like grip.

Rhiannon's eyes met Vila's. In them he saw no fear, just defiance. Although chalk-white, she stood erect, only the faintest tremble discernible in her limbs which Vila knew owed nothing to fear and everything to anger.

Curiously he too felt no fear. He had nothing to lose anymore and at that moment he knew death would be a welcome release.

"Evening," he said conversationally, giving the man a friendly smile. "Can I help you? Are you lost?"

The man blinked, taken aback by Vila's apparent unconcern at having a gun waved in his face. Then, recovering, he jerked Rhiannon closer to his side and snarled,

"Rebel scum! Surrender your weapon to me now."

Vila gave him an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, I don't have one on me. Not really my thing." Technically it was the truth. He didn't have his blaster on his person... it was on the console to the left of him, obscured by a sheaf of printouts. Just out of reach.

Yet again the man looked somewhat disconcerted.

"I don't believe you. Stand up." He waved his gun at Vila, indicating that he should stand up and turn around. Vila complied, keeping his hands visible and even lifted the back of his tunic to show the soldier he had nothing tucked into his waistband.

"See?" he said cheerfully. "Not a thing. Completely unarmed, that's what I am. So are you one of the Feds who attempted the takeover?"

The man nodded curtly.

"It failed, you know. We kicked your proverbial asses, if you'll excuse the language. First here and now the rest of the Federation at large." Vila continued to speak in a cheerful, conversational tone, allowing just a measure of smugness to creep through. It had the desired effect. A muscle began to work in the soldier's cheek.

"You're lying," he spat. "An ill-equipped bunch of Rebels couldn't take down the Federation."

"How about a bunch of Rebels led by Roj Blake and Kerr Avon with the backup of the _Liberator_?" Vila countered. A part of him couldn't believe what he was doing. _Was he really taunting a Federation officer who had a gun pointed at his head? Was he that desperate to die?_

"Blake is dead, the _Liberator_ was destroyed, everyone knows that," the man retorted, although Vila saw the tiniest flicker of unease in the man's eyes and smiled. It was a smile hauntingly reminiscent of another's.

"I'm afraid your information is a little out of date. How long have you been posted here? A year? Two? I bet Carillion wasn't your first choice of post, was it? An out-of-the-way backwater? What exactly did you do to get yourself exiled here?"

Vila saw the man's finger twitch on the trigger but he didn't fire. Instead he asked incredulously,

"Do you want to die?"

"Yes, actually," Vila replied calmly. "Very much. Are you going to oblige me?"

The man looked startled.

"You want to die?"

Vila nodded matter of factly. "Yes. But I'd rather the Queen wasn't made to watch." He gestured to Rhiannon. The soldier looked to her in shock; clearly he hadn't known who his prisoner was.

It was all the distraction Vila needed. Lunging to one side his hand dove down underneath the papers on the nearby console, pulling out the blaster and bringing it to bear on the Fed. He fired, his shot taking the man in the chest, sending him flying backwards, his mouth opened in an exhalation of pain. As he fell, a bolt of light erupted from the Federation pistol.

Vila felt a searing white hot pain in his shoulder. The world spun crazily about him, then blissful oblivion swallowed him.

* * *

When he came to a few minutes later he found himself on the floor propped against one of the consoles. Kneeling beside him was Rhiannon, pressing what looked like a scarf against his shoulder. It was bright red. Vila groaned as pain suddenly flooded back.

Hearing it Rhiannon let out a shaky breath of relief.

"Thank God, Vila. I thought you were dead. Lie still. I've called for help." As she spoke she pressed harder against the wound and he winced, drawing a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

"Sorry," Rhiannon apologised but didn't release the pressure. "You've got a bad shoulder wound, I need to stop the bleeding." Her pale face broke into a faint but determined smile. "If you think I'm going to lose you as well..." She trailed off, looking a little embarrassed.

"No fear of that," Vila managed with a wan smile. "I haven't got anywhere to go."

Rhiannon's smile dimmed. "Vila, I'm sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have run off like that. I just..."

"Couldn't bear to be touched, or spoken to, or looked on," Vila finished for her.

She nodded, her eyes once more blinding with tears.

"What about now?"

In answer she leant forward, dropping her head onto his good shoulder. Vila wrapped his arm about her shoulders, pulling her tight to him. He heard her breath hitch in a sob but almost immediately she sat upright once more, brushing the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and looked at him accusingly.

"Did you mean it?"

Vila looked confused.

"What you said. To the Fed. Did you mean it? Do you really wish you were dead?"

The eyes Vila turned to her were glittering and unwavering. "Yes."

"Would that make him happy?"

"Probably not, but then I've never been very good at doing what Avon wanted me to do." He paused. "I don't know how to exist without him," he said simply.

"So why are you letting me do this?" Rhiannon nodded at the blood soaked scarf still pressed hard to his shoulder. "Why don't you just push me away and let yourself bleed to death?"

"And risk Avon's wrath in the next life by not keeping my promise to him?" He gave a dry chuckle and winced again at the movement. "I may be suicidal but I'm not stupid. Once this is over, once I know Blake has won or lost and I've made sure you're safe, then I can think about dying. Not before."

Before Rhiannon could answer there was the sound of feet pounding along the corridor to the control room and Nagor burst through the doorway, followed by three armed guards.

"Rhiannon? Are you all right?" he barked, his anxiety making his voice sharp.

"I'm fine, Nagor, but Vila's hurt," Rhiannon answered impatiently. "I've tried to stop the bleeding but he's lost a lot of blood." As she spoke a medic ran in clutching a bag and, kneeling beside Vila and Rhiannon, began to tend Vila's wound, carefully easing Rhiannon's hand away to replace it with a square box-like piece of apparatus which started to hum, gently emitting a blue-green light. Rhiannon looked down at the blood-stained scarf in her hand and shuddered, then looked to Vila whose eyes had closed.

"This conversation is not over, Vila," she said tartly. "Not by a long shot."

* * *

An incessant hammering jerked Blake awake. Disorientated, he glanced at the chronometer set into the wall of his quarters. A mere ten minutes had passed since he had sunk back onto his bunk, his eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling of the alcove, replaying the flash of _Liberator_'s destruction over and over in his mind. Somehow he had known, the last time he had spoken to Avon, that they would not meet again, but never had it crossed it mind that the instrument of their separation would be Avon's death. In his mind he had always envisioned _Liberator_ flying in to save the day and then Avon's flying away once more, to follow whatever plans he had made for himself. Blake had never been under any illusions that Avon would wish to be involved in his vision of freedom – there wasn't a profit to be made – but he'd hoped to try and persuade him. He needed an ally like Avon. Now he'd never get the chance.

The hammering increased in intensity. Wearily Blake climbed up from his bunk and crossed to the locked door. No doubt this was Sartok coming to tell him that the Federation were making their move, that destruction was only minutes away. Closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath, he released the lock.

The door slid back to admit Sartok, but rather than the despondent, resigned expression Blake had been expecting, Sartok's eyes blazed with an equal measure of excitement and amazement.

"You aren't going to believe this, Blake. The Federation fleet is giving up. They're surrendering!"

Blake did not react, staring unblinking at Sartok for so long that for a moment Sartok wondered if his leader had heard him. Then as he watched a slow smile spread across Blake's face, his eyes lighting with hope and what Sartok recognised as a hint of smugness.

"Sir?" he asked falteringly.

"You clever bastard," Blake said with feeling, causing Sartok to look at him with confusion.

"Sir?" he repeated.

Blake gave a short laugh and grinned at him, the last traces of weariness and defeat vanishing.

"Not you. Avon. I don't know how, but he managed it. Even from beyond the grave. I always knew the bugger would come back to haunt me."

Blake stepped back into his quarters. Picking up his worn leather waistcoat and slipping it over his shoulders, he turned back to the younger man.

"Sartok. The tide has turned, my friend." He clapped Sartok on the back. "Get back to the control room. Prepare the men to receive surrendering Federation troops. I'll be there in a second."

Sartok nodded, still looking somewhat confused

"What's going on, Blake? It can't possibly be our ships; they were picking us off easily. One second they were fighting us for all they were worth, the next they were practically begging to be allowed to surrender."

"I don't have the time to tell you now. There's too much left to do. Later, I promise," Blake laughed. Sartok returned a smile and turning, vanished into the corridor. Blake stood on the threshold of his quarters for a moment and looked skywards.

"That was a good trick, Avon. Thank you." With a smile of anticipation, he strode after Sartok.

* * *

Blake's control room was buzzing with activity. Several technicians, their faces flushed with excitement, were stationed at the various communication controls, their hands flitting over them as the channels became swamped with calls. The low murmur of voices, Federation and rebel alike, echoed around the room.

One by one, transmissions were received from the remaining Federation ships in orbit, asking for terms of surrender, begging to be allowed to give themselves up to the rebel forces planet bound on Gauda Prime. In each case the reason given was the same. In gasping breaths, Federation captains and commanders reported total failure of the life support systems. From almost every ship in the fleet, life capsules were being ejected into orbit to fall through the atmosphere, heading for the relative safety of the forest planet below. Some capsules did not make it. In the crowded orbit around the planet, they fled the dying ships only to impact on the hull of a nearby vessel. Others entered the atmosphere too fast, turning into giant shooting stars that lit up the sky in an incredible, surreal light show. For those men fortunate enough to make it, the opening of the capsule revealed the waiting guns of the rebels. For some this was the last thing they ever saw. The rebels, held for so many years under the tyranny of the Federation, were revelling in their long awaited chance for revenge. For the first time since the Federation came to power, the lower ranks were at an advantage. They were not worth the drain on weapons.

* * *

Blake silently watched the monitors transmitting scenes from around the planet. On almost every screen he saw the aftermath of the carnage. Bodies of Federation officers littered the ground. Occasionally he saw the body of a rebel, killed by a Federation officer who did not believe in surrender. The scenes were horrific. Blake remained unmoved, his face like granite. They deserved it, every single one of them. He turned to look at Sartok, and his face softened slightly. The young man was white, every vestige of colour drained from his face. In horror he stared open-mouthed at the scenes unfolding before him, anxious to turn away, but equally, compelled to watch.

"How can you let them do that?" he asked quietly, aware his voice was shaking. "It's barbaric. They surrendered."

"On Serkaster they killed over fourteen hundred unarmed civilians. I saw them kill over a hundred rebels who had surrendered, I was the only survivor. You saw for yourself what they did here, to the innocents in the mountain settlements. Do you think they deserve to be treated with consideration?"

"I do if it means that we don't become like them," Sartok retorted, his voice stronger, his eyes hardening. Blake stared at him intently, considering his words. Finally he leaned over to the communicator and activated the transmitter.

"This is Blake. Federation personnel are not, I repeat, not to be killed. They have information vital to our cause. Federation officers of rank are to be brought to the central complex under guard. All other troops should be taken to holding complexes in sections Delta Four and Gamma Two. Blake out." Blake turned to face Sartok. "Satisfied?" he said, somewhat tartly. Sartok nodded. "Good. I just hope I haven't managed to turn all my allies against me in one foul swoop. They won't like that order one bit."

"They'll follow you, Blake," Sartok assured him confidently. "To them you are the epitome of the freedom they desire. You're their leader."

Blake shrugged. "For now. When this is over... Well, we need to find a new way to govern. A fair way. They can choose a leader."

Sartok turned curious eyes to Blake. "And if they choose you? Would you accept?"

Blake made no answer.

* * *

Vila stood leaning against one of the computer banks, silently staring at the monitors in front of him, not quite believing what he saw. Somehow pictures of the events on Gauda Prime were being transmitted to Carillion, and, Vila suspected, every other planet in the Federation. He shifted carefully, trying not to jolt his sore shoulder, to look at Rhiannon, sitting a few feet away. She was watching, similarly open-mouthed. He was sure that Orac was relaying the pictures; normally vidcasts could not be transmitted over such vast distances. _But why? Had this been one of Avon's orders? To prove to the Federation that they had lost the war?_ And that wasn't all Orac was doing. Something was affecting the fleet in its entirety and the only thing capable of doing that was Orac. He longed to escape back to Rhiannon's quarters. Surely, now that the battle was as good as over, he could ask Orac to explain. Try and get some answers. He looked back at the screen impatiently. The orbiting ships were fast resembling a ghost fleet. A few ships, crewed by old school Federation officers, broke orbit, swooping away from the planet into open space, hoping to leave behind whatever malign influence held them. They did not make it far. One by one, he saw their engines cut out, their speed slowing, until finally they were adrift. It was a victory of the most spectacular kind. This had been Avon's plan and it had succeeded. Vila only wished he had lived to see it.

Pushing himself off from where he was leaning, he touched Rhiannon on the shoulder. As she turned to look at him he said in a low voice,

"I want to go question Orac. I can't see how it will hurt now, Blake has as good as won."

"I'll come with you," Rhiannon said, making a move to follow him, but Vila shook his head.

"No, you need to stay here. A kingdom to rule and all that... I promise I'll tell you anything I find out." He gave her a reassuring smile, grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

Rhiannon's face fell but she gave a reluctant nod and settled back in her chair.

Vila slipped out of the control room, confident that only Rhiannon had seen him leave. It wasn't that anyone would stop him, he had the free run of the complex, but he could do with avoiding any awkward questions. Keeping close to the walls where shadows kept his presence unobtrusive, he made his way back to Rhiannon's quarters, closing the door behind him with a soft sigh of relief. He turned the key in the lock to deter unwanted interruptions, pulled Orac from its hiding place and set it on the bed. Sitting down beside it he watched the flashing lights for a full minute.

_What could he ask?_ He had absolutely no doubt that Avon would have given Orac explicit instructions before he left about what he had planned, and that he would have given equally explicit instructions for Orac not to reveal anything to anyone who might try and stop him. In other words, him. _So why had Orac transmitted anything at all?_ In particular Avon's command to fire. There was no logical reason for the computer to transmit the command. It served no purpose; the information could easily have been relayed by Orac in the same bored monotone as it had the preparations for the attack run. For Orac to bother transmitting the command it must have formed part of his instructions from Avon. _Why was that transmission so important?_ The germ of an idea formed in Vila's mind.

"Orac," he said carefully. "Play back the final transmission from the _Liberator_." He fully expected the machine to argue and braced himself for the inevitable insults and reticence to comply to his request. So it was with no small amount of surprise that he heard Orac reply,

"AS YOU WISH. RECORDING FOLLOWS..."

There was a pause, then Avon's command to fire rang about the room once again. Vila felt a shudder of grief run through him but he pushed it to one side and demanded Orac play the recording again. And again. By the fifth play Vila was staring at Orac with unseeing eyes, a maelstrom of hope and bitter anger coursing through his mind. He was such a fool. It was obvious now, the reason for the transmission. It had been a ploy to convince him that Avon was on the _Liberator_ when it was destroyed. Because now he could hear that Avon's voice was lacking that sense of urgency associated with battle, the strange mixture of fear and excitement which cannot be faked. Avon's tone had been cool and devoid of emotion because the command had been pre-recorded. By the time the _Liberator_ reached Gauda Prime, Avon had no longer been on the ship. Vila gulped back the sudden surge of emotion threatening to choke him as the truth burned into his heart.

Avon was alive.

Vila couldn't speak. There were a million questions he wanted to ask Orac but the words wouldn't form, his tongue uselessly glued to the roof of his dry mouth. Avon was alive and he had lied. Avon had tried to make him believe he was dead. He'd vanished, taking that bitch with him, and left Vila to grieve. The hurt almost made Vila gasp in physical pain. A sick sense of betrayal banded his chest, churning his stomach. Vila released an unsteady breath, a shaft of anger piercing through him as he heard a sob escape his own lips. He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to moisten them enough to speak.

"Orac, was Kerr Avon on board the _Liberator_ when it was destroyed?" he asked, his voice little more than a croak.

"THAT INFORMATION IS NOT AVAILABLE," Orac replied. Clearly direct questioning was not going to work. Avon would have made sure he'd covered every angle. He just had to find the one Avon hadn't thought of.

"All right, try this one: What was the complement of escape pods at the time of the Liberator's destruction?"

"THAT INFORMATION IS NOT AVAILABLE," Orac repeated. Was it his imagination or was there a hint of triumph in the machine's reply?

Vila scowled and tried a different tack.

"What speed did the Liberator travel to Gauda Prime?"

"STANDARD BY NINE."

Vila nodded. Finally an answer.

"Given no interruptions or change in speed, what is the journey time to Gauda Prime?"

"TWELVE HOURS, ELEVEN MINUTES," Orac calculated. "IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR NEXT QUESTION I CAN CONFIRM THAT ACTUAL JOURNEY TIME WAS FOURTEEN HOURS AND TWO MINUTES."

"Explain the discrepancy," Vila ordered.

"THAT..."

"...information is not available," Vila finished. Frustrated, he lowered his head into his hands. It was useless. Avon knew him too well, knew the way he thought. He'd know how to block every avenue he thought of...

A slow smile of realisation crept across Vila's face. Avon knew how he thought. Avon knew he would find out about his trick, knew he would be hurt beyond measure and wouldn't just leave him with that sense of betrayal.

"Orac, I know Avon wasn't on the _Liberator_ when she blew. He made a detour, didn't he? Got off somewhere, out of the way, where no-one would look for him, and then sent the _Liberator_ on to Gauda Prime? That's why there is a discrepancy in flight times. He wanted everyone to believe he was dead, and Servalan with him. Can you confirm?"

Orac didn't reply, its silence as good as confirmation.

Vila continued, "Playback Avon's message. I know there is one, so don't give me any crap about having no information or I swear I'll rip every last circuit from your treacherous heart."

Orac gave a definite huff of indignation. "YOUR THREATS ARE UNNECESSARY, VILA. I CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR INABILITY TO ASK THE CORRECT QUESTION TO ENSURE THAT AN ADEQUATE ANSWER WOULD BE RECEIVED. KERR AVON'S MESSAGE IS CODED. A VERBAL TRIGGER IS REQUIRED."

Vila sighed, leaning back on his hands. He should have known Avon wouldn't make it easy for him. What would it be? Something only he and Avon would have known. Tarcan Four? No, Servalan shared that knowledge and there was no way Avon would have risked her having access to his thoughts. It would have to be something more intimate. Despite being alone in the room, Vila found himself blushing as a few of those more intimate details sprang to mind. Despite their very private nature he couldn't really see Avon picking one as a verbal trigger, after all many of them were not unique to his and Avon's relationship. Then he grinned as one very particular afternoon on an empty _Liberator_ came to mind, when he had found out something about the stern, unforgiving Avon which had changed how he viewed the man forever. A fact which he had used for blackmail purposes ever since.

He coughed a little self-consciously and said in a low voice,

"Kerr has a very ticklish right big toe."

He had, too. Vila's chance discovery had sent Kerr into fits of helpless giggles until he had begged for mercy, tears of mirth fighting with desperate gasps for breath. The knowledge had made subsequent encounters very entertaining, Vila remembered with a fond smile.

The smile faded from his face as Avon's voice replaced Orac's hum.

"I'd always prided myself on being immune to tickling, even as a child. Trust you to prove me wrong, Vila. I'm glad you did though. I felt just that little bit more human, knowing that." His voice dropped away for a second and then continued. "I should have known I wouldn't be able to fool you." There was a gentle laugh and Vila could almost see Avon's faintly mocking smile. "The first question you're going to ask is how long have I been planning this? The answer is a very long time, but I don't even know if everything has turned out as I planned. As I record this we haven't even reached Carillion, so for all I know the whole thing could have been a failure and you've stumbled on this message twenty years from now as I rot in some Fed prison. But, assuming that everything has gone to plan, you've just figured out that I wasn't on the _Liberator_ when she was destroyed (and yes that was part of my plan), that I've taken Servalan with me, and that I have no intention of coming back."

"But Vila," Avon's voice continued after a short pause. "Please don't try and find me. I know you'll want to. You probably have some noble belief that it's your duty to try and rescue me from the fate I've chosen. But it's not. You don't owe me anything. It's me that owes you. You were the best thing that ever happened in my life and you know I don't say things like that lightly. And how did I repay you?" Avon asked, his voice suddenly bitter. "I ruined your life. I made you a target for that bitch. I dragged you down into my madness...my hell. I said and did a lot of cruel things." The voice dropped to a whisper. "What I've done to you is unforgivable." There was silence and for one terrible moment Vila thought that the message was finished but then Avon's voice spoke up again, calmer but infinitely sad.

"But you will forgive me, won't you? Because that's the kind of man you are, Vila. A better man than me. I want you know I regret them all. Each harsh word, every cruel glance, all the mocking taunts. Every single one. I would take them all back if I could but I can't. All I can do is to stop inflicting more damage and try and make those responsible pay. And that includes me..." Avon's voice trailed off but this time Vila could hear Avon's harsh breathing in the background as he clearly struggled for the words to continue.

"Believe me when I say that I'm content with the path I have chosen," Avon said suddenly. "Apart from you, there is nothing left for me there. I can't be part of Blake's vision – can you really see me as one of Blake's fawning cabinet of government ministers?" He gave an abrupt laugh, for a moment sounding more like the Avon of the early days when it had seemed to Vila that every sentence he uttered took the form of a sarcastic jibe.

"Definitely not me. I was always more of an absolute power kind of ruler."

Vila found himself smiling and nodding his agreement to the empty room. Catching sight of himself in the mirror on Rhiannon's dresser he immediately sobered, but it was Avon's next words that shook him, driving the last of the colour from his face.

"I don't trust Blake not to come looking for me if he were to find out that I'm alive, so I need you to keep me dead, Vila. Don't tell him or anyone what you know. And when I'm ready and that bitch has paid for what she did to us, I'll make the lie real. On my terms." He continued quietly, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I honestly believe it was for the best, but I know it must have hurt you. Something else I can't make right." Vila heard him take a deep breath and the next words were fractured with barely suppressed emotion. "I don't know how to say goodbye to you, Vila. I hope that when we parted for the last time, I finally did something right. I hope I said what I should have said a long time ago. That I love you. Always and forever."

Avon's voice fell silent, to be replaced almost immediately by Orac's familiar hum.

Vila stared at the computer, hot salty tears tracking down his cheeks, falling unheeded onto his shirt. He clenched the hands he was leaning on into fists

"You devious, conniving, scheming, overbearing bastard Alpha," he swore under his breath, wishing he could bring more epithets to mind as he replayed Avon's message in his head. Avon had left him no choice. _Not to try and find him?_ Did he _actually_ believe he could pull a stunt like that and expect Vila to just sit back and watch while he sacrificed his life to some idiotic notion of revenge?

Once the rebellion was done he was going to search every rock in this whole damn galaxy and then beat some sense into the arrogant son of a bitch.

Possibly employing the aid of a feather against one very sensitive big toe.


	21. Black King To White Queen

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Authors Note: My apologies for not posting this chapter sooner. I had hoped to post it before I went away on my holidays but it wasn't ready in time and any hope I had of posting it while I was away was dashed by my practically non-existent internet access.  
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**We're almost at the end of this journey, just one more long chapter and an epilogue which I will post back-to-back as soon as they come back from my fabulous beta Orion Lyonesse.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_Black King To White Queen_

Avon peered down through the frond-like leaves which jutted out of the branch that formed his perch down to the forest floor, confident that he would be unobserved from below. The feather-like arrangement of the leaves on the branches provided the perfect cover. From his high vantage point he could now see the sea of trees and vegetation stretching out in all directions, an unrelenting carpet of green. To his left the seamless green cover had been rent in two by a dark gouge, and just visible he could see the glint of the second escape capsule deep in the darkness of the scar. He scanned the area around the capsule, his eyes alert to any sign of movement; there was nothing but stillness. Carefully he shinned back down the tree. The wide, evenly spaced branches made an easy ladder down to the ground. Even so he breathed a sigh of relief when his feet touched the soft mossy carpet.

Avon pulled the locator from his belt, silencing the soft beep, and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. He could cover the last few metres without its assistance. Drawing his gun from the holster on his hip he readied it in his hand. From the little he had been able to see from above, there was no indication that the capsule's access panel had been opened and it was possible that Servalan was still trapped inside, but he wasn't going to risk approaching unarmed.

It only took Avon a couple of minutes to cover the remaining distance to the capsule. He kept low as he approached, taking care not to disturb any more vegetation that necessary. The last thing he wanted was a startled bird to give warning of his presence. Like his own capsule, this one was also semi-buried in dark peaty earth, but in this case so deeply that the side viewport was completely obscured. A cursory examination showed that the access panel was still secure in its housing and he imperceptibly relaxed, though his gun remained drawn. Balancing the weapon in one hand he leaned across to release the panel, using the manual control set in a recess on the housing. The recess was choked with dirt and it took a second for him to activate the release mechanism. The panel fell outwards, giving a gentle echoing thud as it hit the soft dirt. Avon peered inside, making sure that his gun was visible. Servalan might be hurt and unconscious, but it was equally likely that she had been trapped for several hours and was in a raging temper. Either way he felt safer with a gun in his hand.

It only took him a second to realise that the capsule was empty. Avon's spine stiffened and he suddenly became aware that the barrel of a small gun was now lodged in the curve of his lower back. Belatedly he realised that Servalan's capsule, like his own, had been equipped with a basic weapon. After all, when escaping from a dying ship there was no telling where you would end up.

Mentally cursing himself for the oversight, he slowly straightened up. Then, without turning around, he said flatly,

"Servalan. Glad you could join me."

Servalan lifted the gun away from Avon's back, then waited until Avon turned to face her.

"Did you honestly think I would leave you alone, Avon? I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of dying," she purred provocatively, but there was a faint, definitely relieved smile curving her lips.

"No, I don't suppose you would," Avon commented bitterly under his breath, noticing that the small gun in her hand still pointed unwaveringly at his heart. Half catching his words Servalan shot him a curious glance. His face was impassive, his eyes focused on a point somewhere behind her head. She resisted the impulse to turn round to see what he was looking at and stared fixedly at his unblinking eyes. After a moment he focused on her. "Are you all right?" he asked his voice now so soft and filled with concern that she wondered whether she had heard his previous comment correctly.

She grimaced. "A bit battered and bruised. It's not the softest landing I've ever enjoyed." As she spoke she stretched out her arms, the gun apparently forgotten in her hand, and arched her back, her grimace turning to smug smile of triumph as she saw Avon swallow, unable to tear his eyes from her long limbs. "It took me hours to get the hatch open," she explained, rotating her shoulders, genuinely trying to ease the tension in them but conscious of the fact that the movement showed her neck to best effect. "What took you so long?"

Avon deliberately kept his eyes fixed on her long neck, eyes appreciative. "The same, plus I was unconscious for hours."

He noted a flicker of concern cross her face but she merely asked,

"What do we do now? Has Orac managed to contact the _Liberator_? When will we be able to return?"

Avon laughed, "One question at a time. Yes, Orac is monitoring the situation on the _Liberator_. Even with auto-repair working flat out it is still going to be at least a day before we can return, so we might as well make ourselves comfortable down here for the night." Avon's smile turned speculative.

In response Servalan's eyes flared with sudden interest, her tongue darting out to moisten suddenly dry lips. Avon's eyes darkened as he took a step forward. Plucking the forgotten gun from her unresisting hand, he threw the gun casually to one side with a slight smile. He saw Servalan's eyes dart with unease, following the gun's descent into the vegetation, and his smile broadened. Lifting one hand he stroked Servalan's cheek, feeling the imperceptible shudder of desire under his fingertips.

"I really think we should go back to where I left Orac," he said in a soft tone filled with regret. "We don't want to miss the call when it comes."

Servalan's face fell in disappointment but she nodded. "Where is it? Why didn't you bring it with you?"

"Do you know how much that thing weighs?" Avon shot back incredulously. "I wasn't about to lug that box through miles of dense forest. I hid it near to where my capsule came down. It's quite safe."

"It better be. As much as I plan to enjoy this little time-out of ours, I don't want to end up stuck here," Servalan said drily.

Avon gave a short sharp laugh and stepped back, slipping his own gun back into the holster on his hip. "Let's get going then. I don't know how long we'll have daylight for." Turning on his heel he set off in the direction he'd come. Servalan hesitated, looking down into the vegetation where the gun had fallen. She wanted a weapon; the gun may be little more than a pea-shooter, but at least she'd be armed. Crouching down she scrabbled in the tangle of ground hugging plants, feeling desperately for the reassuring solidity of the metal barrel, but her fingertips met nothing but soft moss and waxy leaves.

"Servalan, come on. We have to go." Avon's impatient voice sounded from within the screen of trees. "Do you want me to leave you behind? That gun will do you no good, even if you find it." The final sentence was mocking.

Servalan scowled, standing up. She couldn't afford to be lost on this godforsaken rock. As much as it pained the ruthless 'Supreme Commander' side of her, she needed Avon. Of course the other side of her, the side that shuddered with wanting at his touch, needed him too. For completely different and much more pleasurable reasons.

With a final regretful glance at the patch of vegetation, she followed him into the forest.

* * *

They didn't take the short route back. The journey from Avon's capsule to Servalan's had taken him a little over two hours, the dense vegetation making the four miles seem much further. Technically he could take a reciprocal bearing and return along the route he'd come, using the path he'd forged to make the return easier. But, he reflected wryly as he listened to Servalan's laboured breathing behind him, where was the fun in that? So instead he'd guided her on a circuitous route, taking on the roughest terrain he could find. The hours spent memorising old Federation maps, liberated from the Federation archives by the ever begrudging Orac, began to pay off as Avon led her down a narrow ravines clogged by vines into a broad expanse of marshy ground dotted with spiky leaved plants which snagged on their clothing.

After the first hour Servalan had slipped her shoes from her feet, the painful blisters on her heels and toes forcing her to walk barefooted. After the second hour, the long panels of silk that formed the skirt of her dress had been ripped away at the knee so that she could climb over the rocks and boulders in her path. After the third hour the long silky smoothness of her ankles and calves had been marred by the wheals and cuts of razor sharp marsh grass. After the fourth hour the bites of marsh insects had brought her arms up in a smattering of tiny red itchy lumps. After the fifth hour Servalan had stopped dead and demanded to know what the bloody hell Avon was playing at. Avon had turned, waved a scanner under her nose and told her smugly it was "two hundred metres that way." If she'd had the energy she would have taken the fist clenched at her side and wiped the smug smile off his face. As it was she merely pushed him ahead of her and silently followed him into yet another clump of bushes.

* * *

Avon pushed through the last curtain of hanging vines, the heavy strands impeding his progress. Abruptly the vines gave way to either side, ejecting a stumbling Avon into a clearing artificially created by the destructive descent of his capsule. The dull gleaming metal of the craft, barely a metre away, shone in what was left of the afternoon sun. A shadow of a smile crossed Avon's lips. Turning, he solicitously helped Servalan out from the tangle of vines, lifting her from within the tangled mass and setting her down on the clear mossy ground. For a moment Servalan looked startled at the touch of his hands on her waist and almost jerked away. Avon's lips quirked in amusement and he raised one eyebrow quizzically, but he let Servalan's skittishness go unremarked. Stepping away he motioned her to stay put.

"I concealed Orac just outside the clearing. I didn't want to make its presence obvious, just in case there were any natives Orac didn't know about," he said, turning to move out of the clearing.

Servalan gave a sharp laugh. "Wasn't it that you were worried I might find Orac before you found me?" she commented drily.

Avon cocked his head to one side and allowed his eyes to rake over her form appraisingly. "That too," he conceded. "I'll only be a minute."

Two steps and Avon had been swallowed by the dense vegetation. Servalan swallowed with sudden nervousness, abruptly aware of how quiet the forest had suddenly become. In the fading afternoon light the myriad of animal and bird calls had died away, sensing the approach of night. Soon a whole new chorus of cries would rise through the trees as nocturnal species emerged from their daytime roosts, but for the present, it was eerily silent. At that moment she could easily believe that she was the only person on the whole planet. A wave of unfamiliar loneliness assailed her, sending a tremor of fear skittering down her spine. _What if he didn't come back?_

A movement from the bushes to her left sent her stumbling back against the curved metal wall of the capsule. She was just considering climbing into the open hatch at her shoulder to check whether this capsule also carried a weapon when Avon shouldered his way through the undergrowth, carrying the heavy metal box which contained Orac. Servalan let out a slow breath of relief, determined not to let Avon see the unease she'd been feeling. Avon lowered the box onto the ground by the far end of the capsule and sank onto it wearily.

"Tired?" Servalan asked, attempting a scathing tone and instead completely failing to hide a wide yawn.

"It's been a hell of a day," Avon admitted, stifling his own yawn. "I'm actually looking forward to 24 hours enforced R and R." He paused, his dark blazing eyes capturing Servalan's in an intense gaze. "Not that I think rest will really come into it..."

He left the statement hanging, watching as Servalan's face unexpectedly reddened. "What? Are you crying shy? It's a little late for that, isn't it?" Then he smiled lazily with sudden realisation. "Oh, I see. Up till now it's been about trying to make a point, hasn't it? Consolidating your power? Your hold over me? And now what? You have nothing to gain? This time it would be personal, just you facing your real feelings, unclouded by an ulterior motive?" The final sentence was more of a statement of fact than a question and Avon wasn't expecting an answer.

"Yes." Servalan's reluctant reply couldn't have rung louder in Avon's ears if it had been a gunshot point blank to his brain. A dart of savage joy shot through him and the last doubt that the course he had chosen was the right one evaporated.

"What are you trying to say, Servalan? That you love me?" Every fibre of his being urged him to spit the question out cruelly, disbelief and mockery ringing from every syllable, but the words that issued from his lips were for once soft and coaxing.

Servalan gave a half laugh, as if she too couldn't believe her own answer. "It appears so," she said coolly. "I can't think of any other reason to keep you alive this long." She tore her gaze away, trying to dispel the feeling that Avon's eyes were drilling into her very soul.

A faint smile traced Avon's lips. He stood up slowly, ignoring the heavy fatigue in his limbs, and took two steps until he was stood facing her. Caressing Servalan's chin between thumb and forefinger, he pulled her gaze back to his own eyes, dark and blazing with fervour.

"You don't know how pleased I am to hear that," he breathed huskily as he lowered his lips to hers.

His kiss showed none of the bruising passion of their earlier encounters, his firm lips searching hers tenderly. His arms crept around her back, pulling her closer, the sensation of the leather sleeves against the bare flesh of her back sending her senses skittering, the first touch of his warm fingers making her pulse race. Servalan moaned breathlessly against his mouth, her yielding lips providing the opening Avon had been waiting for. Languorously he darted his tongue between the barely parted lips, tentatively flicking the tip against Servalan's waiting tongue. At his touch Servalan opened her mouth wider, inviting him to plunder her mouth, to taste every millimetre. Avon obliged, lifting one hand to cup the back of her head, his fingers brushing through her short black hair, tilting her face so that he had access to her throat and collarbone. His lips pulled away from Servalan's mouth and dropped to the long elegant throat, laving the skin with damp, open-mouthed kisses all the way down to her exposed collarbone, where he feasted, his teeth grazing the smooth skin. Servalan shuddered, a second inarticulate moan escaping her lips. At the sound, Avon smiled against her shoulder and brought the hand clasped about Servalan's back to her breast, stroking through the fine silk of the gown until he felt the nipple harden beneath his hand. This time it was Avon's name that was gasped from between breathless lips, Servalan's head flung back in pleasure, her eyes closed. Avon felt her body start to sag, as her limbs turned to liquid at his touch. Avon pulled her round, leaning her back against the curving wall of the capsule and she relaxed against it, grateful for the support. The hand behind her head now redundant, Avon dropped it, searching out her wrist and lifting her arm above her head. The hand at her breast sought out her other arm, lifting it to meet the first and then he captured both wrists with one hand, pinning her to the wall, whilst the other returned to her breast to resume the luxurious stroking. Not once did his lips leave her flushed skin.

Servalan's eyelids fluttered open in alarm and she made a half-hearted attempt to pull free. Avon raised his head, eyes amused. "Don't you trust me?" he said silkily, his lips and tongue flickering across first one corner of her mouth and then the other. "Didn't we agree neither of us has anything to gain down here? Not if we both want to get off this rock?"

Servalan managed a weak nod and relaxed her arms, using the curve of the wall to arch her body still further, pushing her hips forward in a frantic attempt to try and get closer to Avon. Happy to oblige Avon stepped in, interleaving his legs with hers, pressing his hips forward until the full length of his body was molded to hers, leaving her in no doubt of his need. His mouth returned to hers, now forceful, plundering the warm depths of her mouth and stealing the air from her very lungs. She found herself panting, whether from lack of air or just plain need she didn't know as Avon pulled away once more, lowering his head to her breast, his tongue first caressing and teasing the sensitive flesh through the sleek silk, then one hand working at the back of her neck to release the fastenings. The silk panel dropped between them, revealing smooth unblemished flesh above. With almost a snarl of satisfaction, Avon impatiently pushed the fabric down until it was trapped between their hips. Then he lowered his head back to Servalan's breast, his lips and tongue picking up where they had left off but this time interspersed with grazing nips from his teeth. Servalan tried to arch against Avon's mouth, but the hand clasped about her wrists pinning her to the metal tightened, keeping her immobile. She let out a muted scream of intermingled frustration and desire, but the hand on her wrist remained firm and the mouth on her breast merely teased her further.

"Avon," she pleaded, although what she was pleading for she did not know.

Avon raised his head, his eyes dark and curiously unfathomable.

"You can scream all you like Servalan. There's no one to hear you." And with a knowing smile he proved the point, plunging his free hand between them, inside the soft folds of her dress, searching for and finding a more intimate caress. Servalan bucked against his hand, the captivity provided by Avon's hand fastening her arms above her head coupled with the heavy weight of his body against hers preventing her from moving more than a few centimetres. In frustration she thrashed her head from side to side and a scream was ripped from her throat.

"Please!"

Her hands were released, the probing fingers withdrawn, the warm weight of Avon's body removed. Suddenly released, the soft folds of silk slithered to the grassy floor, leaving her moist, heated skin open to the cool evening air. Legs unsteady, her whole body shaking, she fell back against the capsule, her arms falling heavily to her sides. Breathless she opened her eyes, keen to pull Avon back into her embrace so that he could lower her to the soft ground beneath her feet and finish what they are started.

Avon was a metre away and the eyes that were turned on her made her heart stop, her burgeoning passion giving way to cold fear. They were inhuman. There was no passion, no anger, not even life. They were windows into the void. Black, unseeing, uncaring. Dead. She wanted to tear her eyes away, but something compelled her to meet Avon's blank stare. It was as though the void she glimpsed in those dark depths was somehow sucking her in, threatening to devour her. Transfixed, almost mechanically, she crouched down pulling the material of her dress back up over her hips and breasts, tying the material behind her neck. She didn't want to ask why he had pulled away, she didn't want to hear what Avon was going to reply. Because deep down she knew. She knew what this was all about.

"Vila." The name was little more than a whisper. "This is because of what I did to Vila." She hated herself for sounding so weak, so scared.

"Yes." Avon's reply was flat, showing no emotion.

Servalan waited for him to elaborate but there was silence.

"He was weak. He was unworthy of you," Servalan protested in a low voice.

"I was unworthy of him," Avon said in a monotone. "He loved me and because of that love you destroyed him."

"But..." Servalan's voice faltered. What had she been about to say? That Avon couldn't have loved someone like Vila? That Vila's love was nothing in comparison to her love? "...I love you. I though you..."

Avon's eyes suddenly flashed fire, so intense she flinched back.

"What? You thought I loved you? Oh, you are confused, aren't you? What did you think on Tarcan Four? That you'd taken away my plaything? That by poisoning Vila I'd see the error of my ways and come running to you? Was that the purpose of your little experiment? Not to kill me but to make me run away from Blake and the threat of Vila? God, it must have really disappointed you that I stayed with him. Didn't you even see it then? Why I stayed? Why I risked it day after day? I loved Vila. Then and now."

The angry light in Avon's eyes died, leaving them as lifeless as before.

"On Tarcan Four you wanted to break me, and you did. Any mercy I had in me died in that control room. From that day, the only thing that has mattered to me is getting to this moment. Face to face. And alone. I wanted to see you beg." Avon's lips curved in a truly cruel smile. "I think that counted, don't you?" he commented mockingly, looking Servalan up and down and giving a slight but obvious shudder of distaste.

"Don't tell me you weren't enjoying that? Or what we did on the _Liberator_?" Servalan shot back, stung, her voice wavering.

Avon gave a shrug of indifference. "It was sex, nothing more. Gratification I could find with any one of a dozen whores. You're more expensive than most, but otherwise nothing special."

"It was a means to an end, Servalan," he scoffed. "A means to get you here."

A sudden cold band tightened about Seravlan's chest. "What do you mean, get me here?"

"I mean I wanted you here, alone, with me, at the end."

"What do you mean, the end? Are you going to kill me now?" Servalan's voice was strident but Avon could hear the fear beneath the bravado and smiled inwardly.

"No." He gave a single shake of the head. "That would be too quick, you wouldn't suffer. I think I've earned the right to watch you suffer."

The eyes Servalan turned on him now were fearful, all trace of bravado vanishing.

"I promised I would hunt you down, Servalan, and I intend to. All across this planet..." As he spoke he swept his arm expansively about the clearing, his eyes following the path of his outstretched hand.

In that moment of distraction Servalan darted forward, reaching for the blaster on Avon's hip. In a second it was in her hand, pointed unwaveringly at his chest. Avon merely took a single step back, his eyes still devoid of emotion.

"This game is over, Avon. Give me Orac, now!" Servalan's silky voice was dangerous, low, almost a whisper. With Orac she had a chance of not only escaping but of reclaiming the _Liberator_ as her own. With blazing eyes she raised the gun to Avon's head.

"Help yourself," Avon replied. Smiling lazily he took several steps backwards away from the case. Keeping the gun trained on Avon, her eyes half raised to keep him in view, Servalan crouched down to fumble one-handed with the two clasps. They were stiff, resisting the efforts of her fingers to release them, and she felt more than one long nail snap in the attempt. Finally the clasps clicked open and triumphantly she raised the lid, lowering her eyes to the contents of the box.

Avon began to laugh as Servalan frantically pulled hand tools and rations from the box, searching for the glowing form of Orac even though it was obviously not there. The almost maniacal laughter mocked her as item after item fell from her hands to the soft earth. Finally she turned to face Avon her eyes wild, her voice pleading, as the horrible realisation began to dawn.

"Where is Orac, Avon? Where have you hidden him?"

Avon stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started. Looking into her eyes unblinking, he said quietly, but with unmistakable pleasure,

"I haven't hidden it anywhere, Servalan. It was never here."


	22. Checkmate

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Last full chapter. I'm posting this and the Epilogue simultaneously so you don't hate me for all time...**

**Thanks to Orion for turning both chapters round in double-quick time despite being ferociously busy and losing precious sleep. I really appreciate it.**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

* * *

_Checkmate_

Above Gauda Prime only a fleet of ghost ships remained, empty lifeless hulks slowly orbiting the planet. The war, if it could have been called that, was finally over. The last remnants of the Federation crews, those who had clung to their dying ships, resisting until the last breath of recycled air had gone, finally had no choice but to abandon their ships and were now in the process of being rounded up. In the rebel control room, technicians monitoring incoming transmissions were now receiving a flood of reports from across the galaxy. One by one, planets were proclaiming their freedom from the tyranny of the Federation.

Blake, stealing a few precious moments of quiet alone in his own room, found himself lost deep in thought. He could scarcely believe that the prize he had been chasing for what seemed the whole of his life was now won. But at what price? The faces of all those friends he had lost to the cause swam before his closed eyes: Gan, Jenna, Cally, Tarrant, and Avon. Each face was distinct, the lines and curves etched indelibly in his memory, but it was Avon's face that was inscribed most clearly, that faint, sardonic smile gently mocking him in his victory. He remembered one of Avon's most repeated accusations, that the others blindly followed their leader out of loyalty, while he followed because it suited him. At the time Blake had believed it. He wasn't so sure he believed it now. Looking back he could see that there were opportunities Avon could have taken but had for some reason ignored. Moments when Avon could have literally taken the money and run, leaving Blake and the crew of the _Liberator_ far behind. Perhaps Avon had had more loyalty to Blake than he'd admitted. When it came down to it, for all their twisted relationship, they had been friends; and Blake was only just beginning to realise how much he was going to miss him. It was a bitter victory.

"Blake?" Blake had not heard either Sartok's questioning knock or, when that enquiry had gone unanswered, his soft footfalls as he'd entered, and the tentative enquiry startled him from his reverie.

"What is it?" he snapped, his sense of loss making the words come out harsher than he intended.

"I'm sorry," Sartok apologised swiftly, not meeting Blake's eyes and precipitating a stab of guilt in Blake's gut. Sartok was the last person to deserve his ire.

Blake shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." He waved a hand at Sartok encouragingly. "Go ahead."

Sartok raised his eyes to Blake's face to see that weary calm had replaced the fierce bitterness that had resided there a moment ago. Encouraged he said eagerly, "Dannos has brought in the Supreme Commander for interrogation." The Supreme Commander was the ultimate prize, the pinnacle of Federation military command, and Sartok was sure that Blake would be delighted. Instead he saw his leader's face blanch white, every vestige of colour leaving his cheeks.

"You don't mean she survived?" Blake said almost mechanically. It would be more than he could bear if Servalan had survived when Avon had died.

"She, sir?" Sartok answered, his face clouding in puzzlement. "I'm talking about Supreme Commander Rackis."

In an instant Blake was brought back to the present and he sighed, partly in relief and partly in frustration, at his own stupidity. Of course, Supreme Commander Servalan no longer existed, there was only Commissioner Sleer now. Feeling like a fool he replied, "Yes, of course. Forgive me, Sartok. I don't know what I was thinking of. Yes, bring him in." By the time he had finished speaking Blake's voice had returned to the strong confident tones Sartok associated with his leader. The confused, somehow frail man of a moment ago was nothing more than a distant echo. Nevertheless it was a reminder to Sartok that even the great Roj Blake was human.

Sartok nodded briskly, somehow feeling that both he and Blake would be more comfortable returning to the job at hand. There was still so much to do. Giving an awkward salute he turned and started to leave the room.

"Sartok." Blake's call stopped him by the door. "Thank you." Sartok didn't turn back but acknowledged Blake's words with an incline of his head.

"No problem, sir. Is there anything else?"

Blake smiled at the young man's expert handling of what could only have been a difficult situation for him and said briskly, "If anyone reports in from Carillion I want to know immediately. And do you think you could go back to calling me Blake? And not saluting me? Last time I checked, friends didn't salute each other."

There was a pause and then Sartok flung a salute over his shoulder. It was most definitely not regulation.

Blake gave a snort of laughter as Sartok disappeared into the corridor beyond.

* * *

Barely a minute later Blake's door slid open again to admit a middle-aged man, his square-jawed face bloodied and smudged with soot, his uniform, originally a dark forest green, now almost black with dirt and unidentifiable stains, the torn material showing bruised skin beneath. In front of him, he shepherded a tall, bearded Federation officer probably a decade younger, resplendent in a pristine tailored black uniform which screamed his rank far louder than the official gold bands adorning the shoulders. The man's hands were bound in front of him, tighter than strictly necessary, Blake assessed, judging from the barely concealed expression of pain on the prisoner's otherwise belligerent face. The older man pushed unconcernedly past his prisoner and stopped before Blake's chair.

"Good to see you, Roj," he greeted him warmly, the tired grimy face breaking into a broad smile, displaying almost unnaturally white teeth.

"Dannos," Blake grinned. Climbing to his feet he reached out one hand to clasp that of his friend. "They didn't kill you off then?"

"No. This one gave it a pretty good try though," Dannos replied indicating the tattered material at his shoulder which Blake could now see was soaked with dark red blood.

Blake glanced up at the officer behind Dannos and scowled. "Have you had it seen to yet?"

"No, it will wait. I've had worst at the hands of people like this."

Blake couldn't help looking at the scars which marred Dannos' face. Today, his face covered with dirt and blood, the long, puckered wheals of mottled purple skin which ran across his cheeks and forehead were almost invisible. He had received them as a result of Federation torture as they tried to make him give them Blake's location. They had failed and Blake had seen to it that those immediately responsible had paid dearly for their actions. He wondered briefly if the prisoner in front of him had been the man who had given the orders, or whether that task had fallen to the woman who had finally perished on board the _Liberator_ earlier that day. Not that it mattered now.

"Where did you find him?" he asked, returning his gaze to the captive, his mouth twisting with barely contained disdain.

"Plantation five, close to the wreckage of the _Scorpio_." Dannos scowled. "He managed to get a couple of shots off before I even saw him. He killed young Arac. I was luckier."

Blake's face hardened. Arac had only been nineteen, full of youthful zeal and so eager to fight. Another life stolen by the Federation. And this was one murder he could lay squarely at the feet of the man before him. And he would pay for that act when the time was right; Blake would see to it. But first...

"Dannos, old friend. I'd like a moment alone with the prisoner," Blake said softly, his voice pleasant. "I need to acquaint him with the full situation." As he spoke he inclined his head towards the door. Dannos' answering smile was full of grim satisfaction and without a word he turned and left the room, pausing only to direct a long glance of contempt at the Federation officer.

As the door closed Blake moved out from behind the table. The Federation officer towered a good six inches over him, but Blake refused to feel intimidated, squaring his broader frame against the prisoner's wiry build.

"Supreme Commander Rackis. I am glad to see you made it off your ship safely. Please, take a seat," Blake said smoothly, indicating a chair to his left.

"I prefer to stand," Rackis replied, his contempt for the rebel before him undisguised.

"It was not a request," Blake informed him flatly, his voice instantly icy. "Sit down." Rackis stared at Blake insolently for a long moment, then shrugging he took the offered seat. Blake circled his desk, keeping his eyes fixed on Rackis and settled himself in the chair opposite the Federation officer. Reaching across the piles of datapads littering the desk top he pulled a small squat bottle of amber liquid and two square glasses towards him, pushing some printouts aside to make a space directly before him. "Would you like one?" he enquired, his tone once more calm and polite. "I think you'll agree it's been quite a day."

"I do not drink with rebel scum such yourself." Rackis spat, his upper lip curling with disdain. "You and your friends will pay dearly for this outrage."

Blake shrugged. "I doubt it. Please excuse me if I have one. As I said it's been one hell of a day." Blake poured himself a generous measure of golden liquid and then leant back in his chair, pushing back a little from the desk. "Cheers." Raising his glass, he sniffed appreciatively as he inhaled the aroma emanating from within, then took a large swallow, smacking his lip with pleasure at the taste. "Finest single-malt whiskey, smuggled from Earth. Thirty years old. Are you sure I can't persuade you? No? Your loss. Well... to business."

"Where is Commissioner Sleer?" Rackis interrupted coldly.

Blake took a second sip of whiskey before answering. "Dead. Oh, not because of us. However she sounded when you received that touching distress message, she was in fact very much alive, and in very good health, for that matter. No, it was one of your ships which actually committed the act. She was on the _Liberator_ when it was destroyed. Sorry about that. It seemed the safest place for her at the time." Blake gave Rackis an apologetic shrug, but the smile on his face was triumphant.

Rackis paled at Blake's words but recovered quickly. "Make the most of your supposed victory, Blake, it will soon be over. Reinforcements are on their way."

"As Supreme Commander of the Federation forces I thought you would know that the vast majority of your fleet is around this planet," Blake countered, his tone one of surprise.

"Not at all," Rackis lied smoothly. "We have ships spread out across Federation controlled space. They were alerted the moment the fleet got into difficulties." This at least was true, there were ships, patrolling the various Federation zones, Rackis thought, just not enough of them. "You may have control of Gauda Prime, but the Federation will never let you leave it alive. The ships in orbit are useless to you. You have no men trained to fly them, even if you could repair the life support systems."

"We have the men," Blake said simply. "Some of your own pilots couldn't wait to join us. Some have been sympathetic to our cause for a very long time. Your expectations of their loyalty were a little too high, Rackis. And as far as the ships themselves are concerned, there's nothing wrong with them. Our men will be boarding them as we speak..." Blake was interrupted by a knock on the door. After a second the knock was repeated.

"Come in," Blake called loudly. The door hissed open and Sartok hurried in. He cast a curious glance at Rackis and then addressed Blake, in tones of exaggerated formality,

"Sir. We are receiving a message from Carillion. Do you wish the message be transferred to your terminal?"

"Yes. What is the status of the boarding parties?"

"Confirmation from approximately half the orbiting ships. The operation is proceeding according to schedule," Sartok replied briskly.

"That will be all," Blake commanded. Sartok gave a small bow and backed out of the room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Blake said apologetically. "I've been expecting this call."

A light began to flash on the console inlaid into the table. Blake leant forward and pushed the button adjacent to the light which ceased flashing, now casting a steady orange glow upwards onto Blake's face, picking out in relief the scars it bore.

"Carillion, this is Blake."

"Blake!" Vila's uncharacteristically subdued tones filled the air. "Is what we are seeing on the vid screens here right? Have the Feds around Gauda Prime really surrendered?"

Blake felt a sudden rush of emotion at the sound of Vila's voice.

"Vila, it's good to hear your voice. Yes, it's true. The battle here is over. We've taken some heavy losses..." His voice trailed off. "You know about the _Liberator_." It wasn't a question. From Vila's tone it was clear he knew.

"Yes," Vila said shortly. There was a long silence. "Blake, did anyone get off before she blew?" There was a tremor in Vila's voice as he spoke, a tremor that betrayed a vain hope.

Blake looked at Rackis. He'd hoped for a more private moment to share his loss with Vila but this wasn't a question he could deflect. He couldn't leave Vila not knowing the truth.

"I'm sorry, Vila. No-one made it out. Both Avon and Orac were on her when she blew," he said sadly.

"O..." Vila began and then he coughed. "I see."

Blake looked at the comms speaker curiously. Vila almost sounded surprised, and before that he'd heard a reserve in Vila's voice he'd never heard before. Was there something the thief wasn't telling him? Before he could wonder further, Vila continued,

"And what about her? Please tell me she didn't get away." His voice was back to one of quiet sadness. Blake's shook off the feeling of disquiet, Vila was suffering the same grief he was, it was hardly surprising he was not his usual self.

"Oh no, Commissioner Sleer was on board. Supreme Commander Rackis here was very disappointed." Blake hoped the mention of Rackis' name would stop Vila saying anything unguarded.

"Good." Vila's replied sadly. There was a short pause. "Blake, Carillion is secured," Vila resumed, his voice now brisk and business like. "Dayna and Soolin both report stable situations on Gynoc and Trentaster. Have you heard from Earth?"

Blake glanced at Rackis. Despite his apparent disinterest in the conversation up to this point, his eyes now lit up with curiosity. Blake gave a slight smile. "Not yet. We always knew it would be the hardest planet to take. It'll only be a matter of time though. I'll contact you again in a few hours, Vila. Hopefully I'll have good news for you. Blake out." After a moment Vila made his farewells. Blake released the comms button and watched as the light faded, then turned his attention back to the Federation officer. "Now, where were we?"

"Trentaster and Gynoc are Federation worlds," Rackis said tightly.

"Correction, were. I think it's about time I filled you in on the full situation," Blake said, adding, "I think you'll need that drink now." Smiling he poured a generous measure of whiskey into the second glass and pushed it towards Rackis. The man glanced at the glass with a sneer and ignored it.

"As you wish." Blake shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Here it is then. There are no reinforcements coming, Rackis. The Federation is finished. Your reliance on Pylene 50 to control the populous has been your downfall. It made you complacent."

"Oh, I know why you used it. After the fall of Star One and the Intergalactic War, you didn't have enough military left to maintain a strong presence on all your worlds and you couldn't bear to lose even one. Pylene 50 made that possible, a compliant population marshalled by a minimal military presence."

"Your mistake was you never seriously considered what would happen if the effects of the Pylene 50 were neutralised. And that's what we've done. On every Federation world, there has been a rebellion, even Earth. Even those planets not controlled by Pylene 50 have taken up arms against you as word has spread. And on every planet, the populous has won. It was a very bad move, leaving your worlds undefended, to travel half way across the galaxy on what was, after all, nothing more than a wild goose chase."

Blake's mouth curved in a thin satisfied smile as Rackis' fingers convulsed around the glass and he raised it shakily to his lips.

* * *

Rhiannon stared blankly at Vila, her face draining of every vestige of colour. She swayed, her hand reaching blindly behind her for support, her fingers closing around the ornately carved bedpost which rose from the corner of the headboard and she sank thankfully onto the mattress.

Perched at the foot of the bed, Vila eyed her with concern, his own face white and pinched.

"Say that again," Rhiannon stammered, her voice so faint it was barely a breath.

"I think Avon's alive," Vila repeated. He had thought long and hard about whether or not to share his knowledge with Rhiannon, knowing it would have just this effect. There was a big difference between knowing Avon was alive somewhere and knowing where that somewhere was. Avon's message made it pretty clear he didn't want to be found and that he intended to bring his life to an end as and when he chose. Even if he could find him, there was no guarantee he would find him in time to save him. By telling Rhiannon was he just giving her false hope? In truth, was false hope all he would gain by looking for him? The dilemma had circled Vila's brain for over an hour before one incontrovertible fact had forced itself to the front. Rhiannon deserved to know. As much as he loved Kerr, she was the one able to offer him some kind of future, to give him a chance of real happiness, and if there was any chance of that, Vila had to take it. Once the decision was made, Vila had called Rhiannon back to her quarters, desperate to impart the news before he lost his resolve.

"How?" The whispered question pulled Vila's attention to Rhiannon's ashen features.

"I think, no, I know, Avon got off the _Liberator_ before she blew. The flight times don't add up; he made a detour and got off _en__route_." _I'm__not__mentioning__Avon's__message_, Vila decided suddenly. _It__was__meant__for__me,__recorded__before__Kerr__even__knew__of__Rhiannon's__existence.__I__don't__want__to__share.__Not__that._

There was one piece of information he did have to share though. "He's not alone," he continued sombrely. "Servalan is with him." Vila didn't think it was possible for Rhiannon to become paler but she did, her skin so white it could have been chalk.

"But she's dead. He killed her. I saw her body." The denials tumbled from bloodless lips. "You saw her, Vila. She was dead." Even sat down she swayed once more and in an instant Vila was beside her, his arms around her shoulders. Beneath his hands her skin felt like ice.

"I know what we saw. It was a lie. His revenge on her could never have been that swift. He had a more elaborate plan. It was a typical Avon move. I should have spotted it earlier."

Rhiannon raised startled eyes to his. "How long have you known? That Servalan was alive?" There was anger in her questions.

Vila said gently, "Since the transport fleet left."

A flood of angry colour returned to Rhiannon's cheeks. "And you didn't think to mention it? You let him go with her? Why didn't you stop him?"

Vila let the barrage of questions wash over him. How could he answer her? He had his reasons but he knew she would never understand. Looking at them now he barely understood them himself.

"I couldn't stop him. I tried, but I couldn't. He wouldn't listen to me, he wouldn't have listened to you. All he cared about was getting his revenge on her." Vila's face twisted in pain as he spoke. "I didn't tell you because... I don't know why I didn't tell you..." His voice trailed away.

"Because I never even entered your mind," Rhiannon answered for him. "Because from the moment you realised she was alive and guessed some of what Avon intended, all you cared about was your feelings for Avon and trying to talk him out of the path he'd chosen." Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. "I don't blame you. If I'd been in your position I can't say I wouldn't have done the same." She took the hand not wrapped about her shoulders and squeezed it hard.

Vila met her eyes and nodded. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"Where do you think he is?" Rhiannon asked finally.

"I don't know. Given the _Liberator_'s capabilities there are any number of planets and moons he could have diverted to with enough time for the _Liberator_ to make it to Gauda Prime on schedule. It will be a mammoth task, even with Orac's assistance, to narrow down the options. After that we might have to look for him the old-fashioned way."

"So we are going to look for him?" Rhiannon interrupted, her voice finally alive with hope.

"Of course." Vila looked taken aback at the question. "Do you honestly think I'd let him get away with such an underhanded trick?" His face broke into a grin.

Rhiannon found herself smiling, then a thought struck her and her face sobered. "But Vila, won't we have to give Orac to Blake? Weren't those Avon's instructions? Shouldn't we tell Blake Avon's alive? He could he..."

"No!" Vila's voice was sharp, all trace of levity vanishing in an instant. "We tell Blake nothing. When we find Avon, then we let Avon tell Blake himself if he chooses to."

Rhiannon frowned. "But what about Orac?"

Vila regarded her steadily. "When I checked in with Blake a few minutes ago he was mourning the loss of Avon and Orac. Clearly Avon didn't tell Blake of his intention to leave Orac with me. As far as Blake is concerned Orac was destroyed on the _Liberator_ and I can't see any reason at the moment to disabuse him of that fact. If Blake looks like he's in trouble we can send Orac to him but until then Orac stays hidden."

Vila turned his attention to the computer resting on the centre of the bed. "Orac, I presume Avon protected the information regarding his location?"

"THAT IS CORRECT. THE INFORMATION IS ACCESSIBLE ONLY VIA CORRECT KEY SEQUENCE AND MATCHING VOICE PRINT," Orac confirmed in a curiously respectful tone.

Vila gave a faint smile. "Did Kerr Avon leave any instructions actively preventing someone utilising your ability to access available resources in order to determine his probable location?"

There was a short pause as the computer seemed to consider his query. Finally Orac answered, "NO. ONLY INFORMATION OBTAINED BY DIRECT SPECIFIC QUESTIONING HAS BEEN BLOCKED, OTHER FUNCTIONS ARE NOT RESTRICTED."

The faint smile turned into a broad grin. Vila turned to look at Rhiannon. "He's being very obliging, isn't he?" he commented. "Maybe he's as eager to find his old master as we are."

"I HAVE NO MASTER. MY CAPABILITIES FAR OUTRANK THOSE OF KERR AVON," Orac protested, causing Vila to chuckle.

"But you knew who I was talking about, didn't you? All right then. Orac, using all available data sources, calculate the number of planets and moons capable of being reached by the _Liberator_ in the time permitted. Oh, and filter by the ability to sustain human life."

There was another brief pause, accompanied by an increase in the frequency of Orac's hum before Orac replied. "GIVEN THE STATED PARAMETERS THERE ARE TWELVE THOUSAND OBJECTS WITHIN THE _LIBERATOR_'S RANGE. THE HIGH NUMBER OF CANDIDATES IS ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE VELTERIAN SYSTEM, A BINARY STAR SYSTEM WITH EIGHT THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED AND FORTY ORBITING PLANETS CAPABLE OF SUSTAINING LIFE."

Vila looked at Rhiannon with a resigned expression.

"You just knew he wasn't going to make it easy..."

* * *

On one of twelve thousand planetary bodies, Servalan was looking up at Avon with an expression of disbelief and, behind the panther eyes, there were the stirrings of panic.

"What do you mean it was never here?" Servalan asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Don't lie to me, Avon. You'll regret it." As she spoke she rose to her feet, swinging the gun still clasped in one hand up until it was once more pointed at his heart. "Tell me where it is."

Avon shifted his weight into a relaxed stance, apparently unperturbed by the weapon pointed at him. His expression returned to the thin cruel, inhuman smile that chilled Servalan to the bone.

"With pleasure. Orac's on Carillion, with Vila, who is going to take it to Blake." Avon paused, looking thoughtful, the smile softening for a split second. "Probably."

"I don't believe you," Servalan said coldly, but the hand that held the gun began to tremble. Dear God, he was serious. The implications of Orac's absence flooded over her and the tremble became a tremor which ran through her whole body. She raised her other hand to steady the gun.

Avon's smile grew even more wintry. "Yes, you do, Servalan. No more games. It's time for the truth."

"I don't understand. What truth? This is about Vila, revenge for what I did. You've said that." Servalan fought to keep the pleading tone from her voice, but she could hear it. It disgusted her but she couldn't seem to do anything to stop it. This Avon, the one before her now, bore no relation to the nemesis she had chased and finally loved. That version, with all its cold cruelty, anger and madness, was merely a ghost of the Kerr Avon staring at her with inhuman eyes mirroring the void. She had felt fear before when dealing with Avon, that delicious frisson you get when you take a risk, knowing that no real harm can come to you, when you are a match for the enemy you face. What she felt now was terror, pure breath-stealing terror. As she looked into those eyes, it took all of her will not to scream. Even with a gun in her hand she knew she didn't stand a chance.

"Yes, it's about Vila. But it goes much further than that," Avon began, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. "Give me the gun."

A hundred stinging retorts sprung to Servalan's lips and died unspoken as her hands tightened around the butt of the gun. Instead she shook her head defiantly and took a step back, out of Avon's immediate reach, fully expecting him to make a break and try and seize the weapon from her. Instead he stepped around her and leant against the curving hull of the capsule.

"As you wish. I should make yourself comfortable, Servalan. We have a lot to discuss, or rather I have a lot to say and you really need to listen."

"I prefer to stand," Servalan replied acidly. Now that there was some distance between herself and Avon, even just a few metres, she felt the overwhelming panic subside and her anger re-emerge. "Say what you have to say."

For a long moment Avon looked at her in silence, his face and body still. Then she saw his body relax fractionally against the capsule and his face show the first real emotion since he had broken off their passionate embrace. She was startled to see stark relief etched into his features, as though some invisible barrier had finally been breached. For some reason the sight sent a shiver down her spine.

He gave a chuckle, dry and bitter. "Do you know how long I have waited for this, Servalan? It seems like a lifetime. How fitting it is that I now have the chance to get justice, not only for Vila but for the rest of the galaxy as well. Quite an achievement for someone who was only ever out for what he could get, don't you think?" He ignored Servalan's look of puzzlement and continued in the same soft even voice. "You can see the irony, can't you? That my very personal plan for revenge should enable Blake to achieve what he has been striving for."

"What do you mean?"

Avon brow creased in a frown. "The destruction of the Federation... obviously." Across from him he saw Servalan start in shock. "By now there will be very little left of your empire, Servalan. It will be Blake's empire now."

"You're lying," Servalan retorted. "The Federation could not be destroyed by a group of ill-organised rebels." She tried to inject some certainty into her words but even to her own ears they sounded more like a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable.

"It has, or at least it should have, by now. And it's mostly thanks to you...the ultimate irony, and that little box of tricks called Orac."

The sense of unease coalesced into a knot of fear lodged high in her chest. Where Orac was concerned, anything was possible. And Avon was right. In her greed to take the Federation for herself she had set it on the course for destruction.

"You were the bait," Avon continued, his voice filled with malicious pleasure as he saw the moment Servalan realised what she had done. "Just as you and I planned, that touching distress message sent almost every ship in your fleet to Gauda Prime. I'm afraid I misled you a little. Once there, all Blake had to do was keep them occupied until we arrived, then the _Liberator_ and Blake's forces would launch a coordinated attack."

"It may have escaped your attention but we are currently sat on a remote planet god knows how far from Gauda Prime, with the _Liberator_ crippled in orbit. I wouldn't call that arriving," Servalan interrupted.

Avon flashed her a look of satisfaction and in that instant she recognised just how much of a fool she had been.

"There was nothing wrong with the _Liberator_. It was just a ploy to get the two of us down here," she said flatly.

Avon inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"We may not arrive, but the _Liberator_ will, and that will be good enough. Orac has programmed the _Liberator_ to attack the orbiting fleet. Everyone will be so busy fighting off the infamous _Liberator_ that no will notice as Orac uses the _Liberator_ to transmit a carrier wave that will introduce a computer virus into the Federation's ships computers. Orac will infect every ship in orbit around Gauda Prime, and those ships will transmit the virus to ships on patrol about other Federation worlds. As news of the rebel attack spreads, so will the virus."

"Destroying all those ships, Avon? Won't that leave Blake without the means to secure his empire," Servalan interjected mockingly.

"I never said the virus destroyed them. As you say, leaving the new order without military capabilities would be the height of foolishness. No, the virus will cause the life support systems of the ships to fail, leaving the crew no choice but to abandon ship to the nearest planet. On Gauda Prime Blake and his men will be waiting for them. If any ships are too far to make planetfall... well..." He gave an unconcerned shrug. "It will be a minority of ships. An unfortunate but acceptable loss."

"If Orac is capable of doing that why hasn't he done it before?" Servalan queried in genuine curiosity. It had always concerned her why, if Orac's capabilities were as great as she had been led to believe, Avon had never used Orac against the Federation in any major capacity so far.

"Too many ships, too spread out. If we'd infected a single ship your scientists would have discovered the virus and found a way to counteract it before any real damage could be done. We had to infect as many as possible in one go and to do that the ships needed to be concentrated in one position. That was why we needed you."

"Assuming what you say is true and the fleet is destroyed, there are still thousands of ground troops scattered across the Federation worlds, and the inhabitants are hardly going to resist them, not now anyway, the Pylene 50 will have..." She stopped short, realization beginning to dawn. "Carillion. Of course. The Narox."

Avon inclined his head once more in confirmation. "I'm genuinely surprised it has taken you this long to work it out."

"I had a few distractions," she snapped. "Or hadn't you noticed." She paused for a few moments, marshalling her thoughts. "You were blockading the supply. Paying Hefeydd's people not to deliver the next shipment of Narox to the Federation. That's what the silver was for."

Avon shook his head. "The Feds might have noticed if their supply was suddenly cut off."

"You found a way to make the Pylene 50 inactive?" Servalan surmised.

"Not only make it inactive, but also to reverse any effects of existing exposure and immunise against re-exposure," Avon explained flatly. "The Pacification programme is finished."

"And I suppose when the masses awake there will be Blake's loyal followers to lead them in revolt." Servalan gave a brittle laugh. "I have to admit it's a clever plan, Avon. Almost worthy of one of my own."

"I'm glad it meets with your exacting standards," Avon said drily, with a small bow. "But that was Blake's plan. Everything except the _Liberator_ leaving us here. That was entirely my idea."

Avon crossed his arms, looking around the clearing with interest. "Do you like the kingdom I've chosen for you, Servalan? I'll admit it's smaller than you're used to and there aren't many subjects you can bend to your will, but you will be its Empress. Unchallenged."

As he finished speaking his eyes lowered to look into hers once more and she saw with horror that the empty blackness had returned.

"Avon." The plea had fallen from her lips without thinking. At the sound she saw Avon's mouth twist savagely and he continued to speak as though he had not heard.

"There is no-one coming. Blake and the others will believe we are dead, destroyed along with the _Liberator_. And even if they suspect the truth, they will never find us. I chose this planet carefully. It was scanned by the Federation over a century ago and discarded. It wasn't even given a name. And Orac has taken measures to ensure that no-one will ever set foot here again. I've made sure that you will die here."

"As will you," Servalan said shakily, her face ashen, her dark eyes smudges against marble white skin.

"We both have a penance to pay," Avon acknowledged. "We've hurt a lot of people, you and I. People whose only crime was to have the misfortune to get caught between us. Here the only people we can hurt are each other."

Silence stretched between them, the sounds of the forest returning to fill the emptiness.

Listening to the cacophony of bird calls which heralded the fall of night, Servalan tried to think. There had to be way out, a way off this pitiful rock. Even with the Federation gone there were still opportunities to be found. Planets on the borders of Federation space where warlords still ruled unchallenged. Somewhere she could hide from Avon's wrath.

"Trying to find a way out?" Avon said mockingly, the sound rendering the treetops silent.

Servalan forced a smile to her lips, the one she employed when she knew she had the upper hand. With a steady hand she trained the gun at Avon's head. At this range the blast would take his head from his shoulders.

"You'll be alone," Avon said coolly.

"I'll take my chances," Servalan said smoothly and without hesitating pulled the trigger.

There was a hollow click.

Servalan looked at the gun in her hands, eyes wide with shock, and then her shoulders slumped. The gun slipped from her fingers, falling with a soft thud onto the mossy floor.

"What are you going to do?" she asked dully, defeat evident in every syllable of her words.

"I'm going to do exactly what I said." Avon replied, pushing himself away from the capsule and standing before her, so close she could see her own white face mirrored in his eyes. It looked like another person, someone who couldn't possibly be her, but when it opened its mouth, her words spilled out.

"What? Kill me?"

"Eventually. I told you I was going to hunt you across the face of this world and that's what I'm going to do." Avon's eyes never left hers.

"You can't be serious." The denial was automatic and pointless.

"You have a week," Avon stated. "One week head start. And then I will come after you. And believe me, Servalan, when I find you I will kill you. Whether that death is quick and merciful or a drawn out torture is something I'll leave you to think about on dark nights. Be under no illusions, I will not stop looking. Until the day you draw your last breath in old age, or the day you stumble across my corpse in some clearing, know that I am hunting you." As he spoke he crossed to the scattered contents of the metal case and collected together an assortment of packages and containers, stuffing them into a bag made of a metallic fabric that had also been tucked into the case. After a moment or two he tied the neck of the bag, dropping it at her feet.

"You're insane," she breathed.

"So I've been told. But if I am, remember that everything I am is down to you. If you had wanted to live you should have left him alone..." Avon leaned close, his lips brushing her neck and Servalan suppressed the impulse to flinch. She could feel his lips curve in a smile she was glad she couldn't see as he whispered into ear, "Now...run."

He pulled away, retreating a step, all trace of the smile gone, the emotionless mask back in place. For a moment Servalan looked into Avon's eyes, searching for a spark of anything human in their obsidian depths. Only the flare of madness stared back. Grasping the bag at her feet she turned and walked with unhurried, measured steps out of the clearing, fighting the urge to turn and look back for the last time. She knew without a shadow of uncertainty that the next time she looked into Kerr Avon's eyes, the insanity that raged there would be the last thing she ever saw.

Finally engulfed by the thick vegetation, Servalan risked a look over her shoulder. The clearing was lost to sight. Driving a fist into her mouth to smother the sob of terror lodged in her throat, Servalan ran.

* * *

Avon leant back against the capsule once more, sliding down the smooth metal wall finally coming to rest hunched down, his knees tucked under his chin. His breath came in short shallow gasps, his body shaking with reaction. Lowering his knees a little, with one trembling hand he reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out the folded paper and the slim metal case. Balancing the case on his knees he unfolded the paper, an old creased holocapture. He couldn't remember the day it had been created, but he remembered vividly the day Cally had tucked it into his hand. The day he and Vila had come back from Tarcan Four. The day anger and hopelessness had surged through him and the madness had begun. "This is why you have to have hope," Cally had said. But not verbally to his face. The thought had been projected into his mind, a gentle caress of much needed comfort. And then she'd pushed the holocapture into his hand. A picture of Blake, Vila and himself taken on the flight deck of the _Liberator_. Blake and Vila laughing at something now long forgotten. He was behind them, clearly trying to scowl but his lips were curved in reluctant amusement. It was an expression he recognised all too well. But it was his eyes that had given him pause, had been the reason why Cally had not shared this holocapture with the rest of the crew. His eyes were fixed on Vila, and everything Avon felt for him was radiating out, clear for anyone to see. Love and wanting and happiness. Emotions he hadn't really believed himself capable of. He had looked at the picture often, every time his faith that they would find a cure was challenged, a reminder of why they carried on. It was only on the day that he and Vila had sat down and finally admitted defeat that he had put the picture away. He hadn't looked at it since.

Avon swallowed, folding the precious picture in half and tucking it back into his top pocket. Then he picked up the slim metal case and slid back the lid, studying the contents. A hypodermic spray and a single vial of red liquid. Avon touched the vial lightly with his fingertips, a smile of contentment finally curving his lips. Replacing the lid he returned the case to its position tight against his chest and climbed to his feet.

He had said a week and he would give her that. And then he would find her. Once he had found her and ended her life, his own penance would be paid. On that day he would use the vial and bring his life to an end the way Servalan had engineered long ago on Tarcan Four, the way he wanted, with Vila's blood in his veins and the thief's name on his lips.

On that day he would finally be free.


	23. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Blake's 7 doesn't belong me. It was the genius of Terry Nation and belongs to the BBC. I just play in their Universe occasionally.**

**Author's Note: Here we are, the end of the journey. I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's read this. Special thanks to Jay for the wonderful reviews and subtle nagging to get a shift on – I'm sorry it's taken as long as it has and I hope it was worth all the waiting.**

**Also a huge thank you to Orion for all her wonderful beta-ing. The comments and suggestions really helped to keep me on track.**

**Finally a note to Spring – I really hope you don't mind the liberties I took with your wedding present, without Legacy my fan fiction would have remained firmly stuck in my head for all time – so Ta!**

**Needless to say feedback, good or bad, is always appreciated, indeed loved.**

**Enough talking, on with the final act...**

* * *

_Epilogue_

_A year later_

"Are you sure?" Vila's question was tentative with just a hint of whine.

Rhiannon laughed, her jade eyes twinkling with amusement and affection, and she leaned forward to kiss the Delta on the cheek.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm seeing the real Vila Restal right now? Of course I'm sure."

"They'll never buy it," Vila retorted darkly. "I mean, you and me? Blake's no fool. He'll know."

Rhiannon settled back in her chair. "Vila, Blake hasn't seen you for a year. He might have known the Vila Restal on the _Liberator_, the one playing a role; but he doesn't know you. As you say, he's no fool. If he's any kind of leader he'll have been keeping tabs on you and seen the job you've been doing on Carillion, helping to organise the new government and repair the damage the Federation inflicted on our people."

Vila looked unconvinced.

"And," Rhiannon continued with a cheeky grin, "he'll have heard the local gossip."

Vila blinked in surprise. "Er, what gossip?"

Rhiannon gave a mock sigh and shook her head in despair. "You haven't seen the vidcasts that have been circulating for the last two months? The ones that speculate when the Queen of Carillion is going to make an honest man of President Blake's formal representative?"

Vila coloured a shade somewhat darker than beetroot.

"I thought not. You really need to take some time off, Vila. Look, we both know why Blake has called you back to Earth. He knows your work on Carillion is almost done and he wants you back by his side. Do you want to go back?" The question was lightly asked, as though the answer was a foregone conclusion, but Vila could see the young woman's shoulders tense in fear that she might be proved wrong.

His voice was gentle as he replied, "You know I don't." He reached across to take Rhiannon's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "And I know the only way Blake would consent to me staying on Carillion is if he believes that you and I are..." He fought to find the right word, one that didn't bring him out in a cold sweat. "together," he concluded finally. "I know that, but Blake knows that you and Avon were involved, one of the others is bound to have told him. That's why I don't think he'll believe us. Who would believe that someone like you would settle for a Delta thief...ex-thief... when you've had someone like Kerr Avon?"

Rhiannon fixed him with an implacable stare that made Vila squirm in his seat as though he was a recalcitrant schoolboy.

"I am queen of Carillion, Vila. I do not _settle_ for anybody." Then she smiled, her face softening. "Come on, Vila, what is it really? Admit it, you don't really give two figs for what Blake thinks, do you? This is about Kerr."

Vila gave a reluctant chuckle. "Am I so transparent? All right. Look, I know Kerr asked me to look after you..."

"And vice versa," Rhiannon intejected.

"Yes, and vice versa. But I can't help feeling I'd be betraying him somehow by agreeing to this."

"Betraying him by cheating on him with me? Or by making me cheat on him with you?" Rhiannon asked.

Vila grimaced. "Both," he admitted. "I think I'm what you would call conflicted."

"Daft is what I'd call you," Rhiannon retorted affectionately. "We're pretending, Vila. In public we'll be a couple, in private we'll be the same as we've always been. It's just another role to play, although hopefully this time it will be less painful to maintain."

Before Vila had chance to answer, the door to the compartment opened and a smartly dressed young woman entered, bowing low to Rhiannon.

"My Queen, my Lord Vila. The shuttle is making its final approach to Earth."

"Thank you, Cerys. See that everything has been prepared," Rhiannon replied, a touch of hauteur in her tone. The young woman bowed again and backed out of the door, closing it behind her.

"I hate doing that," Rhiannon said with a sigh. "I'd much rather she called me Rhiannon, but if I even suggested it she'd be horrified. My subjects do so like their formality."

"I don't know, I quite like the whole Lord Vila thing," Vila said thoughtfully.

"Well, that's settled then." Rhiannon swung her chair round, fixing it in position and clasping a safety belt about her lap in preparation for landing. "Although technically according to Carillion etiquette, as my Consort you should be addressed as Your Highness."

"I can live with that," Vila grinned as he followed Rhiannon's example.

* * *

The shuttle descended in a cloud of dust and leaves thrown up from the shuttle pad by the downwards force of the landing thrusters. At the edge of the pad a contingent of formally dressed officials waited impatiently. At the head, more impatient than the rest put together, the President of the New Galactic Alliance put a finger inside his collar and pulled at the stiff material.

"Blake." A blond woman stepped forward and put a hand over Blake's, stilling its impatient motions. At the touch Blake smiled and shifted his gaze from the shuttle to the woman at his side. His smile lessened the severe aspect given by the puckered scar running down the length of one cheek.

"Sorry. I hate this get-up. And it's only Vila after all. I don't see why it's necessary."

Soolin gave a soft chuckle. "Because Vila is accompanying the Queen of Carillion. We're trying to make a good impression."

"It's Rhiannon. I've spoken to her dozens of times in the past year," Blake protested.

"Yes, but this is the first time you are meeting as heads of state. The Carillion people put a lot of stock in correct etiquette, anything less and they would take it as an insult," Soolin reminded him gently.

"Fine." Blake scowled. "But I still don't like it." He would have continued but his attention was caught by the sight of the shuttle hatch opening outwards to form a short flight of steps.

"Show time," Blake muttered as he stepped forward onto the concrete.

A stocky man, dressed in ceremonial robes, stepped out of the open hatchway, descending to the bottom of the steps and taking up position to the left of the staircase.

As Blake and his party approached, he snapped his fingers. Blake stopped, unsure of whether to approach nearer.

Soolin leaned in next to his ear. "You go forward. We stay here," she whispered in an amused tone. Clearly all of her briefings on Carillion customs had gone in one ear and straight out the other.

"You're coming with me," Blake hissed under his breath.

"As your bodyguard it would be inappropriate," Soolin protested in a low tone.

Blake turned and gave her a hard look. "Inappropriate be damned," he said shortly and grabbing her hand pulled her after him as he covered the last few steps to the bottom of the stairs. They came to an abrupt stop and as Soolin tried to smooth her ruffled clothing, not to mention her ruffled nerves, Blake directed a challenging glare at the Carillion official.

The man merely raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat with a short cough.

"I present Her Majesty Queen Rhiannon, daughter of King Hefeydd, Ruler of the Independent Kingdom of Carillion; and her Consort, His Highness the Queen's Protector Lord Vila Restel."

Blake and Soolin stood open-mouthed as Rhiannon and Vila descended the steps and stopped in front of them, smiling broadly.

"Her what?" Blake spluttered.

"Consort," Vila said briskly. "Close your mouth, Blake, it isn't a look that befits the President of the New Galactic Alliance."

"Vila." His face breaking into a wide smile he enveloped the thief in a fierce hug. "It's good to see you."

Vila struggled free, feeling the need to breathe. "You too Blake, it's been a long year."

Blake turned to Rhiannon. "Rhiannon, it's wonderful to finally meet you in person. Welcome to Earth."

"Thank you. I've heard a lot about it from Vila. I'm looking forward to having a chance to visit some of the places Vila mentioned. Soolin, how are you?" Rhiannon held out a hand to clasp Soolin's. Vila stared in bemusement.

"Soolin?"

Soolin laughed. "Have I changed so much?"

"Umm, I'd have to go with yes," Vila said staring at the young woman before him.

Gone was the mercenary Vila had known on the _Liberator_. The tight fitting jump suit was replaced by a long flowing gown of palest bronze, its hem just sweeping the ground; and instead of being secured in a tightly pulled back ponytail, her blond hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders. But it was Soolin's face that had changed the most, the harsh set of her features had softened and Vila could see the soft creases of laughter lines around her mouth, whilst her eyes, chips of blue ice that glittered like sapphires, no longer held the hard glint of suppressed anger and fear.

Vila looked from Soolin to Blake and back again. "You kept that quiet," he said with a wicked grin.

For an instant Blake looked taken aback, then he smiled a little sheepishly, folding one hand about Soolin's. "So say's the queen's consort," he retorted. "I guess this means you won't be coming back to Earth then," he continued, his voice tinged with regret.

Vila smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Blake, my home's on Carillion now. I did bring you someone who can help though." Turning round he gave a nod to the Carillion official who cleared his throat once more.

"I present His Highness Prince Kelyn, son of Queen Rhiannon, heir to the throne of the Independent Kingdom of Carillion and My Lady Dayna Mellenby, the Queen's Representative in the New Galactic Alliance."

"Don't you just love all this name dropping," Vila commented as Blake's jaw hit the floor for the second time that day.

Dayna stepped down the flight of steps nervously. Babies in general were really not her thing and heirs to the throne in particular. She couldn't help but be relieved as Rhiannon relieved her of her burden the moment she reached the concrete. Even so she stroked the small, soft cheek affectionately as she handed him over before turning to greet Soolin and Blake.

"I think you win on the surprise front," Blake commented to Vila a few moments later.

Vila looked across to Rhiannon and her son. "He's not mine." His mouth twisted a little as he spoke.

"I know," Blake said quietly. "You only need to look at him to see who his father is."

Vila looked at the face staring out at him from Rhiannon's arms, old eyes of darkest grey flecked with emerald which already seemed to contain the wisdom of ages, a strong square chin which even now hinted of stubborn determination, and a shock of jet black hair. Just looking at him made Vila's heart ache with loss.

"I promised Avon I would look after her. The least I can do is give his son a name. Kelyn Avon Restel. It has quite a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Avon would have liked it," Blake replied softly.

* * *

"My Lord Vila?" There was movement at Vila's elbow and he looked around to see the attendant Cerys.

"Yes?"

"There is a transmission from Carillion for your personal and immediate attention. From Lord Chancellor Nagor."

Although the day was warm, Vila felt a chill steal over him. This was it, the news he had been waiting for. He looked down at his hands, gloved as they always were these days. "I'll take it in the shuttle."

Quietly, Vila slipped away from Rhiannon's side and if she saw him leave she made no show of it. Crossing the landing pad, Vila climbed the steps of the shuttle and ducked inside, heading for the blessed solitude of his own compartment. Once the door was securely sealed behind him, he sat on the bunk and spoke the personal activation code which triggered his view screen. After a few moments of hissing static the vidscreen resolved into Nagor's friendly features. But there was no welcoming smile, Carillion's Lord Chancellor was grave. Vila felt a leaden weight settle around his heart.

"Nagor," he said. "I take it the news is not what I want to hear."

Nagor looked uncomfortable, not an expression Vila could ever recall seeing on the older man's face.

"What is it, Nagor?" Suddenly Vila was filled with real fear. Could the news be worse than even he feared? With Orac's covert assistance, a team of scientists on Carillion had spent the last few weeks testing his blood against that of Rhiannon's son to see whether the curse Servalan had inflicted on him would carry over to Avon's offspring. It had been torture not to be able to hold the child as he wished, only daring to touch the boy with gloved fingers, unable to drop kisses into the soft dark hair so like his father's. Rhiannon had tried to convince him that, just as with Avon, casual skin contact would do her son no harm, but Vila had seen the uncertainty lurking behind the outwardly calm green eyes and even if he hadn't, there was no way he would dare take the risk. The child was too precious to both of them.

Looking at Nagor's face now, Vila could only conclude that the scientists had found that the poison he carried in his veins was lethal to Kerr's child. But was there something more? Could the effects of the poison be spreading? Could he poison others now? Or was the poison slowly killing him? If that was the case he needed to find Avon, and soon. He wasn't prepared to leave Rhiannon and Kelyn alone.

"Tell me, Nagor," he said tersely.

Nagor shifted in his seat. "You're no threat to the child," he said quietly.

Relief flooded through Vila and he laughed shakily.

"Thank god. When I saw your face I thought..."

"You're no threat to anyone," Nagor interrupted, his expression still grave.

"Even better," Vila said with a smile, standing up. "I have to find Rhiannon and Kelyn."

"Sit down!" Nagor's command stunned Vila into silence. Wordlessly he sank back down onto the bunk, fear surging through him once more. The fear must have shown on his face, because Nagor's face softened.

"Vila, the scientists couldn't find any trace of the poison in your bloodstream," he said gently.

"What?" Vila looked at him blankly. "I don't understand."

"There was no trace of the poison in any of your samples. Your blood and tissues were normal. The scientists checked your DNA against your previous results and there was no sign of the transfected DNA."

"That can't be right," Vila stammered. "Every cell. That's what she said. It was in every cell. We checked. Cally checked, over and over again. It was there."

"Well it's not there now. Our scientists think it was an unstable transfection. Over time, as your cells divided and were renewed the new cells forced the foreign DNA out. It's not uncommon, apparently."

"How long have I been clear?" Vila's question was a whisper.

"They don't know. But they are confident that if there are any cells which still contain the transfected DNA they are in such small numbers that they cannot pose a threat to Kelyn."

_Or__Avon,_ Vila finished silently. Now he understood the grave expression on Nagor's face. Nagor understood that if Vila had known this before arriving on Carillion, things would have been very different. But there was no way Nagor could fully understand the real implications of his news. Mind racing Vila managed a mumbled thanks and farewell, ending the transmission with almost indecent haste. Only once silence had filled the room did he let the tears he had been holding back fall. Whether they were of joy or despair he didn't know.

It had been so simple. In his heart he had resigned himself to reuniting Avon with Rhiannon and their son, and vanishing from their lives once and for all. And he had thought that the day was not far from coming. With Orac's surprisingly obliging and ungrumbling assistance, he had narrowed his search to just over a hundred planets. A hundred planets he'd intended to personally visit and search just as soon as they returned to Carillion.

Now, as he looked through the shuttle view port at the huddle of figures standing on the concrete, laughing and joking with Rhiannon and Kelyn at the very heart, he knew it had suddenly become far from simple. Nobody had to know the full truth, not even Rhiannon. For her it would be enough that Kelyn was safe. He could keep the knowledge to himself. Nagor would hold his tongue; his first loyalty was to his queen and besides, he knew nothing of Avon's survival. He would believe that Vila had no wish to upset her. If nobody knew then Vila could do as he planned. Avon and Rhiannon had a son, Kelyn deserved the chance for his parents to raise him together.

Surely it should be that simple, he reasoned. But it wasn't. Because he knew that on the day when he looked Kerr in the eye, knowing that now there was nothing to stop them, he wouldn't be able to walk away.

A long time ago a young, idealistic Kerr Avon, persuading a shy but willing Delta thief into his bed for the first time, had said that freedom was having the ability to choose, to make your own decisions.

Until this moment, Vila Restel had genuinely believed that...

_The End_

* * *

**Now then, to sequel or not to sequel, that is the question**_... _**your comments would be welcome**_.  
_


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